THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A   CATHEDRAL   PILGEIMAGE 


CATHEDEAL  PILGRIMAGE 


JULIA  C.   R.   DORR 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  FLOWER  OF  ENGLAND'S 
FACE,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


BOSTON 
JOSEPH   KNIGHT   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Norfeootl  }Drrss 

J.  8.  Gushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  HIM.  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


cc 

<C        TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE  AND 

AVALON     .......        1 


PAOE 

THE   ISLE  OF 


IN  AND  AROUND  WINCHESTER  ...      50 


III 

WINCHESTER  AND  ITS   SHADOW  PICTURES     74 


«  iv 

O 

D         A  BOY  BISHOP        ......     93 

U 
;t 

5  v 

"^         A  GLORIOUS  TRIO  .....   101 


452648 


VI 

PAGE 
RIPON   AND  FOUNTAINS  ABBEY  .  .   141 

VII 

CHURCH  AND  FORTRESS       ....   160 

VIII 

THE    VALLEY   OF   NIGHTSHADE   WHEREIN 

LIES   FURNESS   ABBEY          .  .  .    187 

IX 
THE   TRANSEPT   OF  THE   MARTYRDOM          .   200 

X 

AT   LICHFIELD         .  .  .    .       .  .  .   235 

XI 
BEAUTIFUL    EXETER      .  ...  .  •   258 


To  many  minds  both  profound  and  cult- 
ured, to  many  natures  that  are  both  sensi- 
tive and  appreciative,  the  English  cathedrals 
make  no  special  appeal.  It  is  largely  a 
matter  of  temperament.  There  are  others 
to  whom  they  have  so  much  to  say  that  it  is 
overpowering.  For  them  every  stone  has  a 
voice,  every  aisle  a  message.  The  great, 
sombre  towers  bring  them  strength  and 
healing  ;  the  soaring  spires  lift  them  above 
earth  and  its  weariness  into  an  atmosphere 
where  all  is  peace. 

Destiny  has  forbidden  to  many  such  as 
these  —  true  cathedral  lovers  —  the  delight 
of  personal  knoioledge  and  intimacy.  To 
bring  to  them  the  very  faintest  echo  of  this 
voice,  this  message,  this  breath  of  strength 
and  healing  and  peace,  is  the  sole  object  of 
this  little  book. 

J.  C.  R.  D. 

The  Maples,  Rutland,  Vt., 
May  11,  1896. 

vii 


A  CATHEDRAL  PILGEIMAGE 


TO   KING  INA'S   WELLE   AND   THE 
ISLE   OF   AVALON 

"ID ITT  where  are  all  the  people?"  said 
Altera.  "  That's  what  puzzles  me." 
It  puzzled  me  also,  as  I  think  it  must 
puzzle  all  Americans  who  see  much  of 
rural  England.  Our  ancestral  home  is  so 
very  small  when  compared  with  the  broad 
domain  of  Columbia,  that  it  is  not  strange  if 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  latter  regard 
England  somewhat  in  the  light  of  the  old 
woman  who  lived  in  her  shoe  and  did  not 
know  how  to  dispose  of  her  numerous  prog- 
eny. It  had  seemed  to  us,  at  least,  as  if  in 
England  we  should  always  be  conscious,  if 
not  of  a  crowd,  yet  of  the  nearness  of  other 
people.  But  it  was  just  the  contrary.  The 

B  I 


2  TO    KING    INA'S    WELLE 

villages  swarm,  the  towns  are  crowded ; 
yet  the  country  proper  seemed  to  us  less 
densely  populated  than  our  own  New  Eng- 
land. In  our  somewhat  leisurely  course 
through  the  Western  counties,  from  Wales 
to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  this  was  one  of  the 
things  that  most  impressed  us.  Often  we 
would  ride  for  miles  through  wide  stretches 
of  fertile  country,  with  farmhouses  and  cot- 
tages dotting  all  the  way,  and  see  hardly  a 
living  soul  in  the  fields,  or  on  the  highways, 
at  work,  or  at  play.  This  is  not  because 
the  railway  avoids  the  thoroughfares.  We 
were  constantly  running  along  beside  the 
level,  hedge-inclosed  roads,  so  fair  and  in- 
viting ;  but  so  seldom  did  we  see  either 
riders,  or  pedestrians,  that  the  highways 
seemed  to  be  made,  and  kept  in  such  fine 
condition,  for  ornament  rather  than  for  use. 
Perhaps  the  fact  that  "  Little  Lord  Faunt- 
leroy's"  grandfather,  the  grouty  Earl  of 
Dorincourt,  is  by  no  means  the  only  gentle- 
man in  England  who  lives  "a  long  way 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  3 

from  his  gate,"  may  help  to  solve  this 
problem.  Enormous  private  estates  are, 
doubtless,  not  conducive  to  dense  popula- 
tion ;  and  the  vast  parks  that  cover  so  many 
thousands  of  British  acres,  beautiful  as  they 
are,  it  must  still  be  confessed  are  like  the 
lilies  of  the  field  that  neither  toil  nor  spin. 
They  are  not  bread-and-butter  earners. 
Yet  if  beauty  is  its  own  best  excuse,  who 
shall  quarrel  with  them  for  that  ?  A  lily  has 
as  good  a  right  to  live  as  a  wheat-blade. 

If  the  highways  are  attractive,  what  shall 
be  said  of  the  little,  well-worn  footpaths 
running  hither  and  thither  across  the  fields  ? 
There  is  nothing  lovelier  in  all  England, 
nothing  more  enticing,  than  these  little  by- 
ways. Wandering  here  and  there,  appar- 
ently at  their  own  wild  will  —  branching  off 
here,  skirting  or  climbing  a  hill  there,  now 
bending  to  follow  the  course  of  the  brook, 
now  flying  off  at  a  tangent  and  disappear- 
ing behind  a  hedge  —  no  doubt  each  seem- 
ingly purposeless  curve  has  its  own  reason 


4  TO  KIXG  INA'S  WELLE 

for  being,  and  has  ministered  to  the  needs 
of  generation  after  generation.  For  they 
are  no  creatures  of  a  day,  these  English 
footpaths  that  are  so  stimulating  to  the 
imagination.  They  are  permanent  features 
of  the  landscape,  as  the  hills  are  and  the 
streams;  and  they  look  as  if  they  might 
have  been  trodden  for  ages.  They  tell 
stories;  they  sing  songs ;  they  weep,  and 
laugh,  and  pray.  They  have  grown  human 
through  their  long  association  with  man- 
kind. 

"You  have  propounded  one  riddle  this 
morning,"  I  said  to  Altera.  "Now  it  is 
my  turn.  What  becomes  of  all  the  rub- 
bish ?  " 

The  question  related  to  the  country. 
There  is  rubbish  enough  in  the  towns, 
Heaven  knows !  But  as  soon  as  you  get 
out  of  them,  you  begin  to  wonder  what  be- 
comes of  all  the  debris  that  elsewhere  fol- 
lows in  the  wake  of  human  existence. 
Wherever  we  go  in  our  own  land,  the  way 


AND    THE   ISLE    OF    AVALON  5 

is  strewn  with  wrecks  and  ruins.  What 
becomes,  over  here,  of  all  the  old  tin  cans, 
the  old  hoops,  the  broken  crockery,  the 
empty  bottles,  the  thousand  and  one  things 
that  cannot  be  burned,  and  that  have  no 
inclination  to  dissolve  themselves  into  their 
original  elements?  All  rural  England  is 
swept  and  brushed  and  dusted,  as  it  were, 
suiting  one's  housewifely  instincts  to  a 
charm.  There  is  literally  no  refuse,  no 
litter.  What  becomes  of  it  all  ?  Is  the 
island  so  small  that  its  good  genii  can  reach 
from  sea  to  sea,  and  toss  all  that  is  un- 
sightly and  unmanageable  into  the  healing, 
hiding  waves  ? 

I  have  said  we  seldom  saw  any  one  at 
work,  or  at  play.  Yet  England  was  doing 
her  haying.  Somebody  had  cut,  or  was 
cutting,  the  grass  that  filled  the  air  with  its 
rare  fragrance  all  the  way  from  Conway  to 
Ventnor.  Twice  or  thrice  we  saw  Maud 
Muller,  picturesque,  and  pretty  as  a  pink, 
in  gown  of  blue  or  rose-coloured  cotton  and 


6  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

wide  straw  hat.  Much  oftener  we  saw  her 
mother  —  a  good  deal  less  comely,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  and  much  busier.  Eng- 
lish Maud  did  not  seem  to  be  pining  after 
any  "  might  have  beens,"  or  to  be  conscious 
of  importunate  longings.  Tossing  the  fra- 
grant hay  in  the  sweet,  fresh  air  and  golden 
sunshine,  with  father,  brother,  and  perhaps 
lover,  to  share  the  work,  was  not  so  bad  a 
thing.  Verily,  the  hayfield  has  some  advan- 
tages over  the  kitchen  and  the  laundry. 

One  summer  afternoon  we  left  Bristol 
for  a  land  of  faery,  a  world  of  dreams,  a 
region  of  enchantment.  We  should  have 
been  transported  thither  by  the  touch  of 
some  magic  wand,  or  have  been  wafted 
through  the  air  on  rosy  clouds.  At  the 
very  least,  we  should  have  been  borne  on 
by  milk-white  steeds,  in  a  chariot  radiant 
with  purple  and  gold.  But,  alas  !  we  had 
to  go  by  rail,  poor,  common  mortals  that 
we  were.  Taking  the  Cheddar  Valley  line, 
which  leaves  the  Bristol  &  Exeter  at  Yat- 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  J 

on,  we  swept  down  through  the  beautiful 
vale  that  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  Mendip 
Hills.  All  the  way  the  scenery  was  most 
charmingly  varied.  The  Hills  themselves, 
lying  at  our  left,  were  rocky  as  to  their 
summits,  but  well  cultivated  on  the  slopes. 
Farmhouses  gray  with  age,  cottages  rose- 
wreathed  and  ivy-clad,  dotted  all  the  way  ; 
and  every  few  miles  brought  us  to  a  village, 
with  its  "Hall,"  or  mansion,  its  parish 
church,  — generally  standing  a  little  apart, 
embosomed  in  trees,  with  the  dead  of 
many  generations  sleeping  peacefully  in  its 
shadow, — and  the  pretty  rectory  hard  by. 
The  air  was  full  of  peace  and  contentment. 
Green  pastures  came  up  close  to  the  rail- 
way track,  and  the  very  sheep  and  cattle 
looked  drowsily  comfortable,  scarcely  prick- 
ing up  their  ears,  or  whisking  their  tails,  as 
the  fiery  monster  whizzed  past  them.  Even 
the  dogs  seemed  less  alert  and  nervous  than 
our  own.  It  was  almost  too  much  trouble 
to  bark. 


8  TO    KING    IXA'S    WELLE 

"Altera,"  I  said,  "the  outside  is  all  so 
fair.  What  do  you  suppose  the  inside  is  ? 
Can  it  be  possible  that  misery,  squalor,  and 
—  sin  —  lurk  underneath  the  ivies  and 
roses  ?  I  must  see  the  inside  of  some  of 
these  picturesque  thatched  cottages  before 
I  die." 

"  Better  not  take  too  near  a  view,"  she 
answered,  "  for  sin  and  dirt  lurk  every- 
where on  earth.  Let  us  take  the  good 
the  gods  provide,  and  not  be  too  inquisi- 
tive." 

Which  is  undoubtedly  a  comfortable  rule 
for  travellers  to  follow.  But,  without  look- 
ing closely,  or  asking  deep  questions,  one 
would  say  England  —  rural  England  —  was 
a  pretty  good  place  to  be  poor  in. 

At  length  we  were  in  Wells  ;  and  Wells 
is  faeryland.  We  entered  in  broad  day- 
light, in  most  prosaic  fashion.  But  from 
the  first  hour  of  our  stay  to  the  last,  the 
magical  influences  of  the  quaint  old  city 
held  us  spellbound.  Just  wherein  the 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  9 

charm  lies  it  is  somewhat  hard  to  say.  We 
laughed  at  ourselves  at  the  time — or  tried 
to.  We  made  fun  of  our  emotions;  we 
called  ourselves  sentimental ;  we  ridi- 
culed our  rhapsodies,  and  yielded  under 
a  protest.  We  told  each  other  it  was  only 
because  Wells  was  the  second  cathedral 
town  in  which  we  had  really  stayed ;  and 
that,  to  be  sure,  the  Cathedral  itself  was 
finer  than  dear  old  Chester  ;  but  that,  when 
we  had  seen  Salisbury,  with  its  soaring 
spire,  and  Winchester,  which  is  English 
history  embodied  in  stone,  the  majestic 
splendour  of  Canterbury,  the  magnificence 
of  Ely  and  Lincoln  and  York,  and  the  for- 
tress-like grandeur  of  "time-honoured  Dur- 
ham," then  we  should  undoubtedly  laugh 
more  than  ever  at  our  innocent  infatuation 
in  being  so  "carried  away"  with  Wells. 
But,  having  seen  and  studied  them  all,  and 
many  another  besides,  we  were  never  un- 
true to  our  first  love  ;  we  never  ceased  to 
feel  the  sweet  thraldom  of  the  inexplicable 


ro  TO  KIXG  IXA'S  WELLE 

charm  that  makes  Wells  among  the  most 
lovable  of  English  cathedrals,  and  clothes 
the  unpretending  little  town  in  a  veil  of 
mysticism  and  romance. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  beginning.  We 
went  to  the  Swan  Hotel,  which  is  as  old  as 
the  hills,  or  older..  One  would  think  it 
must  be  as  old  as  the  town,  anyhow.  Five 
hundred  years  ago  it  was  a  famous  hostelry, 
and  it  still  continues  so.  It  is  just  opposite 
the  Cathedral,  to  which  it  has  its  own  pri- 
vate path  and  gateway  —  a  fact  on  which 
the  old  inn  plumes  itself  not  a  little.  To 
tell  the  honest  truth,  one  learns  after  a 
while  that  modern  conveniences  are  more 
to  be  desired  in  a  hotel  than  a  perceptible 
flavour  of  antiquity.  But  the  Swan  has  made 
use  of  her  white  wings  to  sail  along  on  the 
tide  of  progress,  and  she  is  fairly  well  up 
with  the  times.  Alas  !  she  gave  us  stones 
when  we  asked  for  bread,  as  did  most  of 
the  West  of  England  inns  —  the  so-called 
"  cottage  loaf,"  which  they  chiefly  affect, 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  II 

being  an  utter  abomination.  Barring  this, 
however,  she  made  us  very  comfortable. 
Having  taken  possession  of  our  rooms, 
which  overlooked  the  Cathedral  close,  we 
cast  one  glance  at  the  magnificent  facade 
and  —  ordered  dinner  !  Thus  closely  do 
romance  and  reality  tread  upon  each  other's 
heels.  It  may,  however,  be  some  excuse 
for  us  to  say  that,  by  yielding  thus  early  to 
reality  in  the  shape  of  chops  and  peas,  we 
secured  the  long,  cool,  late  afternoon  and 
dewy  twilight,  for  our  first  enchanted  wan- 
dering in  the  wonder- world  of  Wells. 

After  a  while  we  went  through  the  tiny 
flower  garden,  with  its  baby  fountain,  and 
entered  the  "  strait  gate  "  leading  into  the 
close.  Before  us,  across  the  wide  green 
stretch  of  turf  bordered  by  stately  trees, 
rose  the  mighty  towers,  gray  with  the 
touch  of  the  centuries,  looming  darkly 
against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  and  the  grand 
west  front,  with  its  tier  on  tier  of  sculpt- 
ured figures,  reaching  from  the  basement 


12  TO   KING    INA'S   WELLE 

to  the  uppermost  height  of  the  great  central 
gable.  Did  I  say  that  Winchester  was 
English  history  embodied  ?  We  hear  and 
read  less  of  Wells  ;  but  on  that  mighty 
page  of  stone,  the  west  front  of  Wells  Ca- 
thedral, is  written  the  history  of  the  world, 
from  the  creation  downward.  There  are 
its  crowned  kings,  its  heroes,  its  warriors, 
its  holy  women  of  whom  the  world  was  not 
worthy.  There  are  saints  without  number. 
There  are  "the  goodly  fellowship  of  the 
prophets,"  "the  noble  army  of  martyrs," 
"the  glorious  company  of  the  Apostles." 
There  are  seraphim  and  cherubim  —  a  very 
glory  of  angels  —  and,  high  over  all,  once  sat 
the  Christ  enthroned  in  majesty.  Of  this 
glorious  figure,  then  the  centre  and  climax 
of  the  whole,  only  the  feet  now  remain. 
But  the  story  is  easily  read.  It  is  this: 
"To  Thee  all  angels  cry  aloud,  the  heavens 
and  all  the  powers  therein;"  and  "The 
holy  church  throughout  all  the  world  doth 
acknowledge  Thee." 


AND   THE   ISLE   OF   AVALON  13 

There  are  three  hundred  of  these  figures, 
many  of  them  of  life  size,  some  battered  and 
mutilated  by  vandal  hordes,  and  all  worn 
by  the  slow,  disintegrating  touch  of  time ; 
crude  and  grotesque  at  the  best  in  many 
instances,  and  yet  impressive  and  imposing 
beyond  description.  Of  them,  as  a  whole, 
Freeman  says,  —  "The  sculptures  of  the 
west  front  of  Wells  are  superior  to  any  of 
the  same  period  in  any  part  of  Europe." 
On  the  north  tower  is  the  "  Last  Supper," 
a  sculptural  group  said  to  be  the  earliest 
known  representation  of  the  scene;  two 
and  a  half  centuries  older  than  the  great 
picture  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  Many  of 
the  canopied  niches  are  empty.  Perhaps 
the  very  emptiness  speaks  more  forcibly 
than  the  best  attempt  at  restoration.  At 
all  events,  no  such  attempt  has  been  made. 
Canopies  and  broken  niches  have  been 
made  whole,  but  not  a  lost  statue  has  been 
replaced. 

How  long  we  stood  silent  and  overawed  be- 


14  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

fore  that  majestic  company  I  will  not  under- 
take to  say.  Then  we  went  in  at  the  low 
west  door  —  the  double  door  in  the  middle. 
On  each  side  is  a  single  door  opening  into 
the  aisle.  Low  and  narrow  the  three  cer- 
tainly are,  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the 
front ;  but  their  smallness  is  said  to  have  a 
symbolic  meaning  —  "Enter  ye  in  at  the 
strait  gate." 

It  was  growing  dark  in  the  aisles,  and 
shadows  lurked  in  the  far  spaces,  while 
the  nave  itself,  and  the  lofty  vaulted  roof, 
were  radiant  with  the  sunset  light  stream- 
ing in  through  the  triple  lancets  of  the 
great  west  window.  Radiant  is  hardly 
the  word.  They  were  filled  with  a  splen- 
did gloom  that  was  more  glorious  than 
day. 

But  we  hardly  looked  about  us.  This 
was  the  time  for  out-of-door  delights. 
As  we  wrote  our  names  in  the  visitors' 
book,  and  talked  with  the  verger,  mak- 
ing our  arrangements  for  the  morrow,  he 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  15 

said :  * '  You  have  heard  of  our  famous 
old  clock?  Come  with  me.  It  is  about 
to  strike."  Into  the  north  transept  he 
led  us,  and  pointed  us  to  a  bench.  Down 
we  sat  and  waited,  a  trifle  amused,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  at  the  incongruousness 
of  it  all ;  that,  after  our  high,  rapturous 
fancies,  the  first  thing  we  should  take 
special  heed  of  in  the  grand  Cathedral 
should  be  a  queer  old  clock  ! 

But  it  was  worth  seeing.  After  saying 
that  it  was  made  by  a  monk  of  Glaston- 
bury  in  1325,  or  thereabouts,  let  me  quote 
from  a  local  authority.  Never  having  made 
a  special  study  of  timepieces,  I  dare  not 
trust  my  memory:  "The  face  shows  the 
hour  of  the  day,  the  age  of  the  moon,  and 
the  position  of  the  planets.  Above  the 
dial-plate,  which  is  six  feet  six  inches  in 
diameter,  is  a  platform  around  a  panelled 
tower.  On  this  are  four  mounted  figures, 
equipped  as  for  a  tournament,  which,  as 
the  clock  proclaims  the  hour,  start  into 


1 6  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

action,  and  hurry  rapidly  round.  The 
quarters  are  struck  by  a  sitting  figure, 
which  uses  its  heels  for  the  purpose." 

Outside,  near  the  north  porch,  is  the 
clock  face  where  two  figures  in  armour, 
locally  called  the  "quarter  Jacks,"  strike 
the  quarters.  At  the  dissolution  of  the 
Abbey  the  clock  was  carried  to  Wells. 
On  it  the  ingenious  maker  in  the  early 
part  of  the  fourteenth  century  inscribed 
his  name  —  "Petrus  Lightfoot,  monachus, 
fecit  hoc  opus."  Curious  and  interesting 
as  it  is,  it  seems  somewhat  out  of  keeping 
with  the  solemn  splendour  of  its  surround- 
ings ;  and,  with  all  due  reverence  for  the 
good  monk  Peter,  we  wished  it  had  been 
put  somewhere  else. 

As  we  came  out  we  fell  again  under 
the  spell  of  the  magnificent  fa£ade.  So, 
too,  apparently,  had  fallen  "a  woman  of 
the  people,"  who,  with  a  child  in  her 
arms,  Madonna-wise,  stood  gazing  up  seri- 
ously at  the  stony  faces.  Gradually  she 


AND    THE   ISLE    OF   AVALON  17 

grew  nearer  and  nearer,  looking  at  us 
from  under  the  light  shawl  that  was 
drawn  about  her  head,  as  if  seeking  a 
certain  spiritual  sympathy.  "  Surely," 
thought  I,  "we  are  all  akin,  we  women  ; " 
and  I  was  about  to  make  some  sympathetic 
observation,  when,  giving  her  arms  a  little 
toss  to  settle  the  child  more  steadily  on 
its  perch,  she  remarked:  "It's  awful  old- 
fashioned,  now  ain't  it,  mum  ?  " 

The  beauty  of  that  place  and  hour  is 
something  that  cannot  be  put  into  words. 
The  Cathedral  close,  or  green,  as  it  is 
sometimes  called  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  Vicar's  close  on  the  north,  is  entered 
by  three  noble  gateways,  all  built  by 
Bishop  Thomas  de  Beckynton  in  the  fif- 
teenth century,  and  all  bearing  his  arms 
and  his  rebus — a  naming  beacon  issuing 
from  a  tun  or  barrel.  One  of  these  gate- 
ways opens  from  the  market-place,  and  is 
called  "  The  Penniless  Porch,"  but  I  could 
not  learn  why  it  was  thus  impecunious, 
c 


1 8  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

Another,  on  the  opposite  corner  of  the  close, 
is  known  as  Brown's  Gate,  and  the  third, 
or  Chain  Gate,  spans  the  Bath  road  and 
connects  the  Vicar's  close  with  the  Cathe- 
dral. To  the  south  lie  the  great  cloisters, 
forming  three  sides  of  a  quadrangle,  the 
fourth  side  of  which  is  formed  by  the  whole 
length  of  the  nave.  The  space  inclosed  is 
the  Palm  churchyard,  so  named  from  the 
yew-tree  in  its  centre,  branches  of  which 
were  used  formerly  in  processions  in  lieu 
of  real  palm  boughs.  The  east  cloister 
serves  as  a  passage  from  the  Cathedral  to 
the  Bishop's  Palace,  which,  with  its  bas- 
tioned  walls,  its  moat,  and  its  drawbridge, 
lies  still  further  to  the  south. 

Thitherward  we  strayed  in  the  soft  sun- 
set light,  over  the  cool  green  velvet  of  the 
turf,  and  under  the  long  arcades  formed  by 
the  drooping  branches  of  the  lime-trees. 
Were  we  living  and  moving  in  a  dream  ? 
Not  a  human  being  was  in  sight  as  we 
seated  ourselves  on  the  green  bank  of  the 


AND    THE   ISLE    OF   AVALON  IQ 

moat  and  looked  about  us.  It  was  a  real 
moat,  wide,  and  filled  to  the  brim  with 
living,  sparkling  water  —  the  only  one  we 
saw  in  England  that  had  not  long  ago  run 
dry  ;  and  on  its  surface,  like  that  of  a  still, 
deep  river,  stately  swans  and  a  flock  of 
white  ducks  were  idly  floating.  Over  it 
hung  the  drawbridge,  bound  fast,  but  not 
with  chains.  Nature  has  taken  possession 
of  it,  and  wound  about  it  her  ivies,  her 
climbing  vines,  and  clinging  mosses,  and 
bidden  them  make  of  turreted  tower,  and 
groined  vault,  and  high  portcullis,  sweet, 
sheltered  nooks  wherein  birds  might  build 
their  nests.  No  warder  blew  his  horn,  no 
mailed  knight  in  panoply  of  steel  rode  forth 
with  clash  of  spear  and  shield  to  startle 
them.  There  was  no  harsher  sound  than 
the  low  sighing  of  the  wind  and  now  and 
again  the  sweet  chiming  of  cathedral  bells. 
The  Bishop's  Palace  at  Wells  is  said  to 
be  the  finest  in  the  Kingdom.  It  was  built 
in  the  thirteenth  century  by  Bishop  Jace- 


20  TO   KING   INA'S   WELLE 

line;  but  the  external  fortifications,  con- 
sisting of  the  walls,  bastions,  and  moat, 
were  the  work  of  Bishop  Ralph,  of  Shrews- 
bury, a  full  century  later ;  but  they  were 
undoubtedly  a  part  of  Bishop  Jaceline's 
original  design,  forming,  with  the  Cathe- 
dral, chapter-house,  and  close,  a  "mag- 
nificent conception,  giving  an  idea  of  the 
grandeur  of  the  Middle  Ages  hardly  to  be 
obtained  elsewhere . ' ' 

A  fortified  palace  for  an  ambassador  of 
the  Prince  of  Peace  seems  strangely  at 
variance  with  modern  ideas.  But  so  does 
all  other  mediaeval  life  ;  and  the  sword  and 
spear  were  as  potent,  and  perhaps  as  need- 
ful, accessories  of  civilization  and  Christi- 
anity, in  those  days,  as  was  the  Bible  itself. 
We  cannot  judge  of  the  past  by  the  present. 

At  length  we  roused  as  from  a  dream, 
crossed  the  drawbridge,  knocked  at  the 
heavy  door,  and  —  waited.  Do  you  think 
it  swung  open  after  the  fashion  of  common- 
place, ordinary- world  doors  ?  By  no  man- 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  21 

ner  of  means  !  One  of  the  panels  slid 
back  after  dignified,  decorous  delay,  and 
the  blooming  face  of  a  very  young  girl 
appeared  at  the  opening. 

"  May  we  come  in  ?  "  we  asked,  and  she 
smilingly  bade  us  enter. 

How  beautiful  it  was  —  the  picture  that 
met  our  eyes  as  we  strayed  onward  through 
that  wide  expanse  of  park  and  garden  com- 
bined !  Our  young  guide  could  not  give  us 
much  information,  but  that  mattered  little. 
The  place  told  its  own  story.  Here  were 
the  ruins,  magnificent  in  their  decay,  of 
Bishop  Burnell's  great  Banqueting  Hall, 
built  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and  des- 
troyed in  the  fifteenth,  after  a  life  of  less 
than  two  hundred  years.  It  was  the  larg- 
est hall  of  its  kind  in  all  England  —  a 
superb  structure  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  long  and  seventy  feet  broad,  lighted 
by  nine  lofty  windows.  At  each  angle 
were  octagonal  turrets  containing  the  stair- 
cases. These  are  still  standing;  and  four 


22  TO    KING    INA'S   WELLE 

of  the  beautiful  windows  may  yet  be  seen 
through  swaying  curtains  of  ivy. 

Across  the  wide  stretch  of  lawn  is  the 
exquisite  little  chapel,  only  fifty-two  feet 
by  twenty-six,  in  which  my  Lord  Bishop 
has  family  prayers,  and  in  which  the  stu- 
dents of  the  theological  school  meet  for 
daily  services. 

We  meant  to  see  the  palace  itself,  for  our 
little  maid  assured  us  that  the  housekeeper 
was  a  friend  of  her  own,  and  would  gladly 
show  us  its  glories.  But  the  grounds  were 
so  charming,  the  walks  along  the  moat 
were  so  enticing,  the  whole  world  of  out-of- 
doors  was  so  altogether  lovely,  that  we  dal- 
lied too  long.  The  result  was  that  all  we 
saw  of  the  inside  of  the  episcopal  residence 
was  the  vaulted  lower  story,  with  its  pillars 
of  Purbeck  marble,  which  is  now  used  as 
a  dining-room.  Of  this  we  only  caught  a 
glimpse  by  peeping  through  a  window ;  not 
surreptitiously,  however,  even  to  save  time  ; 
but  tempted  and  incited  thereto  by  our 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  23 

small  guide,  who  assured  us  it  was  quite 
the  proper  thing  to  do. 

But  no  words  can  describe  the  enchant- 
ment of  it  all  —  the  great  sweep  of  velvet 
turf,  the  blooming  flowers,  the  stately 
trees,  the  splendid  ruins,  the  ivy-mantled 
bastions,  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  palace, 
the  fair  terrace,  the  little  grotto  and  arbour 
in  which  tradition  says  Bishop  Ken,  the 
brave  and  saintly,  wrote  his  morning  hymn 
and  whither  he  used  to  repair  at  daybreak 
with  his  lute;  the  encircling  moat,  the 
sweet,  bubbling,  gurgling  springs,  or 
"wells,"  by  which  it  is  fed,  and  from 
which  the  city  takes  its  name  ;  and,  dom- 
inating over  all,  the  mighty  walls  and  mas- 
sive towers  of  the  gray  Cathedral.  It  was 
worth  crossing  the  sea  for. 

The  next  morning  we  sallied  forth  for  a 
further  glimpse  of  the  town,  and  in  search 
of  a  silversmith.  Wells  is  but  a  little 
place,  the  population  being  considerably 
less  than  eight  thousand,  Like  many 


24  TO    KING    IXA'S    WELLE 

other  cathedral  towns,  or  cities,  —  in  Eng- 
land only  the  cathedral  towns  are  cities,  — 
it  is  hardly  more  than  a  cluster  of  streets 
and  houses  that  has  grown  up  around,  and 
to  answer  the  needs  of,  its  great  centre  and 
raison  d'etre.  Its  beginnings  are  lost  in  a 
cloud  of  myths  and  fables,  running  back  to 
the  year  166.  But  it  has  been  a  place  of 
importance  ever  since  the  reign  of  Ina, 
king  of  the  West  Saxons,  who  built  a 
church  here  in  704. 

From  the  market-place  radiate  several 
crooked  streets,  down  one  of  which  we 
wandered.  The  first  thing  that  especially 
attracted  our  attention  were  the  rills  of 
very  clear  water  running  along  the  streets 
close  to  the  sidewalk.  "Where  does  all 
this  water  come  from  ?  "  we  asked ;  «*  and 
does  it  always  run  after  this  fashion  ?  " 

We  were  speedily  answered ;  for  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  knew  the  story. 
It  seems  that  in  1443,  or  thereabouts, 
Bishop  Thomas  de  Beckynton  built  for 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  25 

the  citizens  of  Wells  the  great  conduit  in 
the  market-place,  and  supplied  it  with 
water  from  St.  Andrew's  spring,  some- 
times called  the  Well  of  King  Ina,  in  the 
palace  gardens.  In  fact,  prior  to  the  time 
of  Edward  the  Confessor  the  town  itself 
was  known  as  Wells.  In  his  will  the  good 
Bishop,  who  probably  had  advanced  ideas 
as  to  the  advantages  of  cleanliness,  or- 
dained that  the  surplus  water,  or  overflow, 
should  run  through  the  streets  forever,  "  by 
night  and  by  day."  The  citizens  are  quite 
proud  of  this  clause,  as  they  have  good  rea- 
son to  be.  I  don't  know  how  many  times 
we  were  told  the  water  was  to  run  "by 
night  and  by  day."  The  gift  had  one 
other  condition ;  namely,  that  on  each  an- 
niversary of  the  donor's  death,  the  mayor, 
citizens,  and  burgesses  of  Wells  should 
visit  his  tomb  in  the  Cathedral,  "  and  there 
pray  for  his  soul  and  the  souls  of  all  the 
faithful  deceased."  At  first  sight  it  might 
seem  to  the  uninitiated  as  if  the  souls  of 


26  TO   KING   INA'S   WELLE 

the  Mnfaithful  deceased  were  most  in  need 
of  being  prayed  for ;  but  no  doubt  the  good 
Bishop  knew  best.  Whether  he  did  or 
no,  the  will  has  never  been  "broken," 
and  the  holy  rite  it  prescribed  has  been 
performed,  annually,  for  four  centuries 
and  a  half. 

But  to  return  to  our  chief  errand.  Is  it 
to  be  supposed  that  messieurs  the  silver- 
smiths had  their  shops  open  at  the  un- 
earthly hour  of  half-past  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing? Not  they  !  "It  is  too  early,  mum," 
said  a  frowzy-haired  woman  who,  with  her 
bare  arms  wrapped  in  her  apron  and  two 
unkempt  children  clinging  to  her  skirts, 
stood  just  outside  the  door,  literally  filling 
the  narrow  sidewalk.  The  floors  of  the 
houses  were  on  a  level  with  the  street,  hav- 
ing no  doorsteps,  and  hardly  so  much  as  a 
threshold.  "It  is  too  early,  mum;  the 
shops  won't  be  open  till  ten,  or  maybe 
half-past." 

There  was  a  dilemma !    But  though  it 


AXD    THE   ISLE    OF   AVALON  27 

might  be  early  for  shopkeepers,  it  was  not 
too  early  for  a  group  of  four  wandering 
minstrels,  beplumed,  betinselled,  and  be- 
dizened generally,  with  two  violins,  a  tam- 
bourine, and  a  triangle,  to  gather  a  crowd 
about  them.  The  whole  narrow  street 
swarmed  with  men,  women,  and  children. 
We  watched  the  curious,  motley  crowd  for 
a  few  minutes,  thinking  how  strangely 
foreign  the  whole  scene  was,  and  then 
brought  ourselves  back  to  business. 

"We  can't  wait  here  all  day,"  I  said. 
"  I  wonder  where  the  shopkeeper  lives. 
Can  you  tell  me  ?  "  I  asked  of  my  frowzy 
friend,  who  was  serenely  gazing  at  us  and 
at  the  musicians,  alternately. 

"  Eight  next  you,  at  your  left,  and  where 
the  little  green  door  is,  mum,"  she  an- 
swered. "Perhaps  you  might  knock  'im 
up,  mum." 

Which  we  proceeded  to  do ;  and  succeeded 
at  last  in  unearthing  him  from  a  little  back 
alley,  which  we  reached  through  a  long, 


28  TO    KING    IXA'S    WELLE 

narrow  passageway  where  half  a  dozen 
children,  all  of  an  age,  apparently,  were 
playing.  Some  of  them  followed  us  into 
the  shop  where  I  made  my  purchase,  and 
then  we  retraced  our  steps  cathedralward, 
with  the  serene  consciousness  of  duty  well 
performed. 

On  our  way  we  passed  the  Church  of 
St.  Cuthbert.  It  is  beautiful  externally; 
but,  true  to  the  rule  we  had  established  of 
trying  to  get  clear,  strong  impressions  of  a 
few  things,  rather  than  mere  glimpses  of 
many,  we  did  not  go  in. 

This  paper,  especially  as  to  the  next 
few  paragraphs,  is  not  written  for  learned 
folk,  nor  for  those  who  have  been  all  over 
the  world  and  seen  all  there  is  to  see. 
But  there  are  those  who  have  never  been 
so  happy  as  to  see  the  old-world  cathedrals, 
and  who  long  to  form  some  slight  idea 
of  them,  who  yet  say,  "  Pictures  and 
descriptions  are  all  Greek  to  me.  I  do 
not  know  what  I  am  trying  to  see.  If  I 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  29 

study  the  ground  plans,  even,  I  lose  my 
bearings." 

Let  me  say  for  their  consolation  that 
many  who  have  seen  them  say  the  same 
thing.  "  I  was  all  astray  in  their  vast 
spaces,"  said  a  scholarly  woman,  and  a 
good  church-woman,  too.  "It  was  like 
being  in  a  wilderness.  I  could  not  tell  the 
points  of  compass,  and  was  so  bewildered 
I  hardly  knew  right  from  left." 

Without  being  aware  of  it,  she  held  in 
her  hand  the  key  to  the  whole  difficulty. 
She  did  not  know  the  points  of  compass. 
When  you  enter  a  cathedral,  no  matter  by 
what  entrance,  go  straight  down  to  the 
west  door,  and  stand  there  till  you  get  your 
bearings. 

"But  how  shall  I  know  the  west  door  ? 
The  cathedrals  are  many-sided  ;  and  there  is 
no  end  to  the  doors  and  porches,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  chapels  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
How  am  I  to  know  which  way  is  west  ?  " 

Come  with  me  to  the  west  front  of  Wells, 


30  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

and  let  us  see  if  we  cannot  solve  this  prob- 
lem once  for  all.  We  will  not  puzzle  our- 
selves with  styles  of  architecture.  For  the 
nonce,  we  will  not  know  Norman  from 
Early  English,  nor  Decorated  from  Perpen- 
dicular. We  will  only  try  to  learn  where 
we  are,  and  how  to  find  our  way  about  — 
if  we  can. 

Place  yourself  with  your  back  to  the 
massive  door.  Above  your  head  are  the 
triple  lancets  of  the  great  west  window. 
The  middle  light  represents  the  beheading 
of  John  the  Baptist,  and  was  brought  to 
Wells  by  Dean  Creyghton  on  his  return 
from  fifteen  years  of  exile  with  Charles  II. 
Do  not  waste  time  in  a  study  of  it,  how- 
ever, for  it  is  not  very  good.  Look  before 
you,  rather.  What  do  you  see  ?  First, 
the  glorious  beauty  of  the  nave,  with  its 
nine  piers  —  clusters  of  reed-like  shafts  in 
groups  of  three,  the  capitals  enriched  with 
exquisite  carvings  of  bird  and  leaf  and 
flower,  with  now  and  then  a  grotesque 


AND    THE   ISLE    OF   AVALON  3! 

figure,  or  a  curious  device,  that  seems  ironi- 
cal in  its  significance.  Above  the  pier 
arches  runs  the  deep  triforium,  with  its 
slender  columns  of  Purbeck  marble,  extend- 
ing back  over  the  side  aisles.  Up,  up,  up, 
springing  lightly  from  the  arches  of  the 
triforium,  soars  the  lofty  vaulted  roof. 
Between  each  of  the  bays  of  the  triple  vault- 
ing shafts  opens  a  clerestory  window.  Do 
not  stir  from  your  place,  but,  having  cast 
this  one  quick  glance  around  and  above  you, 
look  straight  ahead.  Directly  in  front  of 
you,  down  the  length  of  the  nave,  rises  the 
choir  screen,  with  the  organ  above  it,  seen 
through  the  strange  inverted  arch  that  is 
one  of  the  chief  peculiarities,  and  the  chief 
defect,  of  Wells.  It,  with  the  screen  and 
organ,  obscures  the  vista,  and  in  a  measure 
destroys  the  perspective ;  but  as  it  was 
built  to  strengthen  the  towers  in  1338,  we 
must  not  grumble.  Yet  look  again,  and  — 
much  as  the  view  is  obstructed  —  through 
the  opening  of  the  upper  arch  you  will 


32  TO    KING    IXA1S    WELLE 

catch  glimpses  far  beyond  of  the  roofs  of 
the  exquisite  choir  and  Lady-Chapel,  and 
the  richly  coloured  light  of  the  furthermost 
eastern  window. 

The  point  for  a  novice  to  remember, 
therefore,  is  this.  In  every  cathedral,  the 
altar,  the  sanctuary,  beyond  which  the 
Lady-Chapel  usually  lies,  is  at  the  east. 
Starting  from  it,  you  would  go  down 
through  the  choir,  be  it  large  or  small, 
through  the  junction  of  the  transepts  with 
the  nave,  and  then  on  down  the  length  of 
the  nave  itself  to  the  west  door. 

"  I  never  can  tell  which  transept  I  am  in, 
the  north,  or  the  south,"  said  one  bewildered 
sight-seer. 

Bear  in  mind,  then,  that  if  you  are  facing 
the  altar,  or  the  choir,  the  south  transept 
is  always  at  your  right,  the  north  always 
at  your  left.  With  this  point  firmly  fixed 
in  the  mind  once  for  all,  that  the  altar  is 
invariably  at  the  east,  bringing  the  south 
transept  to  the  right,  and  the  north  to  the 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  33 

left,  of  one  who  faces  it  (or  who  stands  at 
the  west  door),  and  there  is  no  danger  of 
getting  bewildered,  or  astray,  even  in  the 
vast  spaces  of  Westminster  or  Canterbury. 
For,  with  all  their  diversity  of  ornament, 
with  all  their  blossoming  out  into  chapels 
and  chantries  and  lesser  transepts  and 
shrines  innumerable,  the  cathedrals  are  all 
built  on  the  same  general  plan  —  a  Latin 
or  Greek  cross,  of  which  the  main  transepts 
are  the  arms.  There  are  one  or  two  small 
exceptions,  Manchester  for  instance,  but 
they  only  prove  the  rule. 

Another  point.  To  rush  through  a  ca- 
thedral with  a  motley  crowd  of  tourists,  at 
the  heels  of  a  verger,  is  —  not  to  see  it. 
It  is  a  mere  mockery,  a  feast  of  Barmecide. 
You  see  nothing  but  the  surface  of  things, 
and  you  do  not  half  see  even  that.  Go 
with  the  verger  on  the  prescribed  round  in 
the  first  place,  looking  neither  at  plan  nor 
guide-book.  Listen  attentively  to  what  he 
says,  perfunctory  as  it  may  seem.  You 
D 


34  TO    KING    IXA'S    WELLE 

will  be  sure  to  learn  something  of  the  very 
poorest ;  while  of  the  best,  as  intelligent 
and  courteous  teachers,  hardly  too  much 
can  be  said.  But,  having  done  this,  get 
permission  to  go  over  the  place  again  at 
your  leisure  and  alone.  We  were  told  this 
could  not  oe  done,  that  such  permission 
would  not  be  granted.  We  asked  it  every- 
where, and  it  was  never  refused,  not  even 
in  stately  Canterbury,  which  has  the  repu- 
tation of  being  the  most  unapproachable 
of  all.  Much  depends  on  the  mental  atti- 
tude of  the  visitor.  If  the  official  in  charge, 
be  he  dean,  or  canon,  or  verger,  sees  that 
he  is  really  interested  and  reverent,  he 
will,  metaphorically  speaking,  give  him  the 
keys  and  bid  him  Godspeed.  Then  it  is 
that  the  true  joy  of  the  explorer  begins.  It 
was  in  this  way  that  we  saw  Wells. 

Let  us  go  back  a  moment  to  the  west 
door  for  another  look  at  the  nave.  In  the 
central  bay  on  the  south,  on  a  level  with 
the  clerestory,  and  not  projecting  beyond 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  35 

the  triforium,  is  a  small  inclosed  space, 
which  Murray  calls  the  music  gallery.  I 
wonder  if  I  can  be  mistaken  in  thinking 
that  our  guide  gave  it  the  far  more  sugges- 
tive and  poetic  title  of  the  watching  gal- 
lery, where  the  priests  were  wont  to  keep 
holy  vigil  in  commemoration  of  the  night 
wherein  One  said,  "Could  ye  not  watch 
with  me  one  hour?" 

But  we  must  not  linger  here,  beguiled  by 
the  beautiful  chantries,  nor  in  the  tran- 
septs, rich  as  they  are  in  whatever  appeals 
to  the  heart  or  the  imagination.  Only 
pausing  for  a  moment  to  look  at  the  curi- 
ous Norman  font,  let  us  go  up  a  flight  of 
two  or  three  steps  into  the  choir.  The 
decorated  screen  does  not  detain  us  long ; 
but  no  words  can  fitly  portray  the  beauty 
that  breaks  upon  our  delighted  eyes  as  we 
pass  beyond  it.  The  choir  itself  is  a  mar- 
vel of  loveliness,  with  its  light,  slender 
shafts  of  polished  Purbeck  marble  support- 
ing the  canopied  stalls  of  carven  stone,  its 


36  TO    KING    IXA'S    WELLE 

fine  pulpit,  the  Bishop's  throne,  the  three 
graceful  arches  at  the  east,  the  seven  long 
niches  above,  that  seem  to  uphold  the  lofty 
window,  and  all  the  wealth  of  architectural 
detail  that  beggars  description.  The  rere- 
dos,  or  screen  behind  the  altar,  is  low,  and 
does  not  obstruct  the  view  into  the  retro- 
choir  and  Lady-Chapel  beyond.  Over  it 
we  look  into  a  maze  of  almost  supernatu- 
ral glory;  group  after  group  of  lofty  fan- 
traceried  columns,  like  stately  palm-trees 
springing  of  their  own  glad  free  will  to 
support  the  fine  vaulting  of  the  roof ;  shafts 
and  arches  and  lancet-shaped  vistas  in  infin- 
ite variety  opening  in  all  directions  between 
the  clustered  pillars ;  monumental  shrines, 
with  canopies  of  stone  so  delicately  carved 
that  they  seem  like  frostwork,  or  like  finest 
lace ;  and  over  all  the  rich  spendours  of  the 
stained  glass,  the  blaze  of  many-coloured 
light  pouring  in  through  the  eastern  win- 
dows. 
The  Lady-Chapel,  which  is  octagonal, 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  37 

and  gives  an  apsidal  or  semicircular  form 
to  the  end  of  the  church,  is  yet  quite  dis- 
tinct from  it,  and  is  a  most  perfect  and 
unique  little  building  —  a  veritable  gem. 

Turning  reluctantly  away,  let  us  go 
back  to  the  north  transept,  from  which  a 
grand  staircase,  lighted  by  fine  traceried 
windows,  leads  up  to  the  chapter-house, 
which  we  enter  through  a  double  door  of 
extraordinary  beauty.  This,  too,  is  oc- 
tagonal, with  a  central  column  of  sixteen 
shafts,  which  is  like  nothing  in  the  world 
but  a  great  palm-tree  supporting  the 
grandly  vaulted  roof.  Below  the  eight 
magnificent  windows  runs  an  arcade  with 
Purbeck  shafts,  encircling  the  room. 
There,  under  fine  canopies,  are  the  stone 
seats  of  the  monks.  Verily,  our  brethren 
of  the  thirteenth  century,  who  were  wont 
to  convene  here  to  discuss  all  vast  affairs, 
whether  secular  or  religious,  had  a  fair 
place  of  meeting. 

Beyond    the    chapter-house    the    great. 


452648 


38  TO   KING   INA'S   WELLE 

staircase  ascends  through  another  fine 
doorway  to  the  gallery  over  the  chain-gate 
which  connects  the  Vicar's  close  with  the 
Cathedral.  It  is  now  used  as  a  library ; 
but  through  it  the  vicars  can  pass  from 
their  own  close  to  the  church,  thus  avoid- 
ing the  fierce  winds  that  gave  to  the  north- 
west angle  of  the  green  the  name  of  u  Kill 
Canon  Corner." 

The  undercroft,  or  crypt,  which,  con- 
trary to  usual  custom,  is  on  a  level  with 
the  transept,  lies  below  the  chapter-house. 
It  likewise  carries  on  the  octagonal  idea, 
and  has  its  own  grand  central  column. 
Near  the  entrance  door  —  a  beautiful  speci- 
men of  mediaeval  ironwork  —  are  stone  cof- 
fins emptied  long  ago  of  even  the  ashes  of 
their  former  occupants.  Not  a  vestige  of 
them  remains,  not  even  a  name  or  a  mem- 
ory ;  yet  here,  with  scarcely  an  inkling  of 
decay,  lie  the  insensate  stones  to  whose 
keeping  they  were  committed  with  prayers 
and  chantings  and  stately  ceremonies  long 


AIS7D    THE   ISLE    OF    AVALON  39 

centuries  ago.  Leaning  against  the  wall 
are  effigies  of  priests  and  bishops  ;  and  scat- 
tered about  in  the  dim,  sepulchral  light  are 
curious  relics  of  the  past — an  ancient  cope 
chest,  a  chalice  taken  from  a  tomb,  speci- 
mens of  carving  and  ornaments  from  dis- 
mantled shrines.  Suspended  from  one  of 
the  arches  is  a  great  wooden  lantern  that 
once  lighted  the  ways  of  the  monks  of 
Glastonbury.  But  let  us  leave  the  ghastly 
place.  Daylight  is  better. 

Have  we  seen  enough  ?  Let  us  linger  a 
moment  longer  to  note  the  exquisite  finish 
of  the  details,  and  to  see  how,  even  in 
remote  and  almost  inaccessible  passages, 
every  boss  and  corbel  and  capital  is  as 
finely  wrought  as  in  the  nave  itself. 

"  In  the  elder  days  of  art 

Builders  wrought  with  greatest  care 
Each  minute  aud  unseen  part ; 
For  the  gods  see  everywhere." 

So  wrought  the  builders  of  Wells. 
Having  seen  all  this,  we  have  seen  noth 


40  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

ing.  And  if  we  had,  the  seeing  is  the  very 
least  of  it.  It  is  not  the  beauty  of  Wells 
only,  nor  its  sublimity  merely,  that  thrills 
one.  It  is  the  story  that  it  tells,  the 
mighty  tale  that  is  written  on  every  stone 
and  carved  on  every  lofty  capital.  The 
effigies  on  the  tombs  are  often  grotesque. 
But  the  man  is  to  be  pitied  who  can  think 
of  that,  when  he  stands  over  the  dust  and 
sees  the  sculptured  image,  in  his  very  habit 
as  he  lived,  of  the  man  who  in  the  year  1000 
preached  in  the  little  church  that  was  the 
parent  of  this  great  Cathedral  and  stood 
upon  this  very  ground. 

It  has  been  said,  "  But  what  have  Amer- 
icans, especially  American  Protestants,  to 
do  with  these  things  ?  They  are  at  war 
with  our  principles,  at  variance  with  our 
ideas.  We  will  none  of  them  !  " 

Nevertheless,  they  belong  to  us  as  well  as 
to  England.  They  are  a  part  of  our  inheri- 
tance. They  have,  in  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, coloured  and  moulded  our  intellectual 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALOX  4! 

and  spiritual  forces,  as  well  as  those  of  our 
friends  beyond  the  sea.  Shall  we  forget 
that  in  those  strange,  mysterious  Middle 
Ages  during  which  these  miracles  in  stone, 
these  stupendous  creations  of  human  genius, 
grew  and  blossomed,  there  were  no  Protes- 
tants ?  We  may  call  ourselves  what  we 
will  to-day.  We  may  split  ourselves  into 
as  many  sects  as  there  are  sands  in  the  sea. 
But  when  these  grand  cathedrals  sprang 
into  life  and  being,  with  all  their  accessories 
and  ramifications  of  hospitals,  almshouses, 
schools,  and  colleges,  the  world  was  divided 
into  just  two  vast  armies  —  Heathendom 
and  Christendom  ;  and  abbot  and  bishop, 
priest  and  vicar,  were  mail-clad  knights 
fighting  the  battles  of  the  latter.  Let  us 
not  be  too  quick  to  disclaim  our  .kinship 
with  them. 

From  Wells  we  went  still  further  into 
dreamland.  We  went  to  Glastonbury, 
only  six  miles  distant.  It  might  have  been 
six  thousand;  for  Glastonbury  is  the  "In- 


42  TO    KING    ISA'S    WELLE 

sula  Avallonia"  of  the  Romans,  the  "  Ava- 
lon,"  or  "Apple-tree  Isle,"  of  the  early 
Britons,  the  "mystic  Isle  of  Avalon,"  the 
"  Island-valley  of  Avilion,"  that  has  so  often 
been  the  theme  of  story  and  of  song.  It 
was  like  going  into  another  world,  a  world 
of  dreams  and  legends,  where  truth  and 
fiction  are  so  interwoven  that  the  separate 
threads  cannot  be  distinguished.  William 
of  Malmsbury  wrote  in  1126  the  marvellous 
history  of  the  even  then  famous  Abbey. 
According  to  him,  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  66,  came  to  Avalon, 
and,  being  admonished  thereto  by  the  angel 
Gabriel,  built  a  church  in  honour  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Hither  he  bore  the  Holy 
Grail,  clothed,  like  Excalibur,  "in  white 
samite,  mystic,  wonderful,"  and  here,  ac- 
cording to  tradition,  it  abode  awhile.  To 
give  even  an  abstract  of  the  Malmsbury 
legends  is  out  of  the  question  here.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  one  grain  of  genuine  wheat 
has  been  sifted  out  of  the  mass  of  chaff. 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  43 

It  is  certain  that  under  the  Romans,  or  the 
Britons,  in  the  very  infancy  of  Christianity, 
somebody  built  here  a  chapel,  or  oratory, 
the  walls  of  which,  it  is  quaintly  said,  were 
of  "  osiers  wattled  together  all  round,"  and 
that,  under  the  name  of  "  Vetusta  Ec- 
clesia,"  it  was  venerated  as  the  first  Chris- 
tian Cliurch  in  Britain.  This  low  wattled 
structure  grew  in  time  to  be  one  of  the 
richest  and  most  magnificent  abbeys  in 
England. 

The  afternoon  sun  was  still  high  when  we 
alighted  at  a  queer  old  hostlery,  with  a  fine 
faQade,  called,  nowadays,  "The  George."  > 
Once  it  was  known  as  "Ye  Pilgrim's  Inn." 
Here,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  —  which 
seems  so  very  modern  as  compared  with  the 
first,  and  its  story  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea, 
—  when  the  crowds  of  pilgrims  who  were 
attracted  by  the  relics  and  shrines  of  Glas- 
tonbury  became  so  great  that  neither  Ab- 
bey, nor  Hospitium,  cquld  shelter  them,  the 
overflow  was  lodged.  It  is  steeped  in  the 


44  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

very  odour  of  antiquity,  if  not  of  sanctity, 
to  this  hour.  We  were  sure  we  inhaled  the 
fine  fragrance  of  ancient  scrip,  scallop,  and 
"sandal-shoon,"  over  all  the  sweet  scents 
of  that  summer  day.  Dark,  musty,  with 
walls  many  feet  thick,  and  small  windows 
that,  if  picturesque,  were  not  light-giving, 
the  little  coffee-room  was  anything  but  in- 
viting. In  the  small  courtyard  pigs  and  hens 
grunted  and  cackled.  Hard  by  a  donkey 
brayed  loudly.  We  gingerly  picked  our  way 
through  a  narrow  passage  where  a  maid 
was  on  her  knees,  busy  with  scrubbing- 
brush  and  a  pail  of  unmentionably  dirty 
water,  and  asked  to  be  directed  to  the  Abbey. 
It  was  very  near.  Across  the  street, 
under  an  archway,  then  on  through  an 
alley  which  seemed  to  be  used  as  a  recep- 
tacle for  broken-down  wagons,  plows,  and 
dilapidated  gear  of  all  descriptions,  till  we 
reached  a  little  door  with  a  bell.  Beyond 
this  were  the  majestic  solitudes  of  Glaston- 
bury,  and  we  entered  in. 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALOX  45 

All  was  silent  as  the  grave.  As  has  been 
our  good  fortune  so  many  times  before, 
again  we  had  the  wide,  still  spaces  all  to 
ourselves.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  world 
were  dead.  Slowly,  we  two  sworn  friends, 
who  had  seen  and  felt  so  much  together, 
strolled  onward  over  the  thick  green  turf 
until  we  reached  what  once  had  been  the 
glorious  Abbey.  The  sky  over  our  heads 
was  as  blue  as  the  great  altar  of  sapphire 
that  the  chronicler  declares  was  presented 
to  Glastonbury  by  St.  David,  and  borne 
thither  by  angels.  The  sun  shone  as  never 
shone  the  diamonds  and  precious  stones 
that  adorned  its  countless  shrines.  The 
air  was  sweeter  than  any  incense  that  ever 
floated  from  its  golden  censers. 

The  immensity,  the  vastness,  of  it  all  was 
overpowering.  To  have  sat  down  and 
cried,  womanlike,  would  have  been  a  relief. 
One  does  not  know  where  to  begin.  There 
is  nothing  to  describe,  for  there  is  almost 
nothing  left  of  what  was  once  so  magnifi- 


46  TO  KING  INA'S  WELLE 

cent.  The  roofless  walls  of  St.  Joseph's 
Chapel,  which  is  still  exceedingly  beautiful, 
stand  at  the  extreme  west.  One  must  pass 
through  that,  and  through  still  another  long 
space  that  was  the  site  of  an  early  English 
addition  built  as  a  connecting  link  between 
St.  Joseph's  and  the  main  building,  before 
even  reaching  the  spot  where  the  great  west 
door  of  the  vast  church  once  swung.  Stand- 
ing there,  the  mighty  sweep  of  the  nave  is 
before  you.  With  bated  breath  you  go  on, 
and  on,  and  on,  tracing  your  way  by  slight 
debris  of  column  and  shaft  and  capital,  the 
merest  hints  and  fragments,  that  enable 
you  to  say,  "  Here  were  the  transepts,  here 
were  the  steps  leading  into  the  great  choir, 
here  was  the  high  altar,  and  here  were  the 
shrines  beyond  it."  Overhanging  the  nave 
aisles  are  stately  trees,  whose  branches  wave 
in  the  night  winds  where  once,  in  slow  pro- 
cession, the  stoled  monks  swept  with  chant 
and  hymn  down  the  length  of  the  triforium 
arches.  Here  and  there  portions  of  the 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALON  47 

high  walls  are  standing  —  a  broken  arch,  a 
crumbling  column,  a  traceried  window ; 
but,  in  the  main,  there  is  only  a  great 
sweep  of  velvet  sward,  a  wide  stretch  of 
lawn  lying  open  to  the  heavens,  where  once 
rose  the  towers  and  turrets  and  soaring 
pinnacles  of  the  Abbey  of  Glastonbury. 

It  is  easy  to  believe  that  it  covered  sixty 
acres  —  it  and  its  belongings.  As  you  stand 
at  the  extreme  east,  beyond  the  site  of  the 
altar,  and  look  down  the  immense  distance, 
the  lofty  arches  of  St.  Joseph's  Chapel 
dwindle  to  the  size  of  a  child's  toy. 

Lying  about,  close  to  the  crumbling 
walls,  are  empty  sarcophagi.  My  compan- 
ion had  strolled  off  to  examine  a  richly 
carved  moulding,  and  I  sat  resting  in  the 
shade.  Suddenly  something  white  stirred 
softly  in  a  huge  gray  coffin  opposite  me ; 
and  noiselessly,  deliberately,  out  of  that 
uncanny  depth  a  great  white  sheep  un- 
coiled itself,  and  slowly  disappeared  in  the 
green  distance. 


48  TO    KING   IXA'S   WELLE 

But  Glastonbury  has  other  associations 
than  those  connected  with  abbot,  monk, 
and  friar.  It  figures  largely  in  the  "  Idyls 
of  the  King,"  not  only  as  the  honoured 
abiding-place  for  a  time  of  the  mystic  cup, 
but  in  connection  with  Arthur  himself, 
whither,  according  to  tradition,  the  blame- 
less King  was  borne  to  die  —  to  this  very 

"  island-valley  of  Avilion, 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly." 

And  here,  according  to  Malmsbury,  he  was 
buried,  with  the  fair,  if  faithless,  Guinevere 
upon  his  breast.  Between  two  sculptured 
pyramids  in  the  Monk's  Churchyard  they 
are  said  to  lie ;  and  the  veracious  chroni- 
clers of  the  olden  time,  whose  word  there 
is  certainly  none  to  dispute,  say  that  in 
1191  the  grave  was  discovered  and  opened. 
Of  course  a  coffin  was  found,  and  equally 
of  course  it  bore  this  inscription,  in  Latin  : 
"Here  lies  buried,  in  the  Island  of  Aval- 
Ionia,  the  renowned  King  Arthur."  Guine- 


AND    THE    ISLE    OF    AVALOX  49 

vere's  golden  hair  figures  largely  in  the 
legend,  whose  authenticity,  as  I  have  stated, 
no  living  man  can  dispute,  or  disprove. 

True  or  false,  however,  fact  or  fantasy, 
it  was  pleasant  to  dream  away  the  hours  of 
that  golden  afternoon  ;  to  pace  the  given 
distance  between  a  certain  well-marked 
window  in  St.  Joseph's  Chapel  and  the 
site  of  the  two  pyramids;  and  to  please 
ourselves  by  imagining  that  we  stood 
above  the  very  spot  where  lie  the  ashes 
of  Arthur  and  Queen  Guinevere. 


II 

IN  AND  AROUND   WINCHESTER 

"  O  HALL  it  be   4  The  Black  Swan,'   or 

'  The  George '  ?    One  is  as  good  as 

the  other,  according  to  the  guide-books." 

We  had  grown  a  trifle  superstitious  as  to 
the  names  of  the  inns  wherein  we  hoped 
to  take  our  ease.  Altera  laughed  as  she 
turned  the  leaves  of  her  vade-mecum. 

We  had  tried  Crabs  and  Lobsters,  White 
Swans  and  White  Harts,  Red  Lions  and 
Golden  Lions,  Unicorns,  Eagles,  Black 
Bulls,  and  Lambs ;  and  we  had  turned 
coldly  and  resolutely  away  from  the  blan- 
dishments of  "  The  Lion  and  the  Snake," 
and  other  equally  enticing  copartnerships. 
Of  all  these  creatures  only  one  had  proved 
to  be  utterly  steeped  in  iniquity,  and  thar 
50 


IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER         5! 

one  was  the  type  of  innocence  and  purity 
—  a  lamb. 

To  the  "  Black  Swan"  we  went,  and  it 
did  not  betray  our  trust.  Perhaps  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  say,  while  on  this  subject, 
that  the  station  hotels  are  good,  almost 
without  exception,  and  they  are  by  no 
means  as  noisy  as  one  would  expect  them 
to  be. 

"And  now  —  whither?"  I  said,  after 
luncheon.  ' '  The  castle  will  keep,  and  so 
will  the  cathedral.  Shall  we  explore  the 
town?" 

"  The  town  will  keep  also,"  was  Altera's 
answer.  "  Let  us  go  out  to  Hursley." 

Very  soon  we  were  climbing  the  long 
hills  lying  to  the  southwest  of  Winchester, 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  grave  of  John  Keble. 
A  drive  of  six  or  seven  miles  brought  us  to 
Hursley,  the  little  village  where  he  was 
vicar  for  many  years.  It  is  a  quiet,  se- 
cluded spot,  of  so  little  apparent  impor- 
tance that  our  maps  of  England  quite  ig- 


52        IN   AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER 

nored  its  existence,  and  we  could  only  find 
its  whereabouts  by  consulting  the  local 
maps  of  Hampshire.  Yet  it  is  beautiful, 
with  a  certain  rustic  grace  and  simplicity 
that  made  it  seem  not  unmeet  to  have  been 
the  home  of  the  saintly  singer.  Almost  at 
its  entrance,  and  very  near  the  roadside, 
stood  the  ivy -grown  parish  church,  embos- 
omed in  trees  and  surrounded  by  grassy 
graves  and  humble  tombs  that  crowd  to  its 
very  feet. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  of  a  still,  sweet 
summer  day.  The  sexton  was  not  to  be 
found,  but  the  church  doors  were  opened 
wide  to  the  wandering  airs  and  the  soft  sun- 
shine. God's  house  was  hospitably  free  to 
all  who  chose  to  enter  —  a  home,  a  haven  of 
rest,  a  sanctuary  of  refuge,  for  every  lonely, 
needy  soul.  This  particular  house  is  lovely 
within  and  without,  having  been  restored 
and  made  beautiful  by  the  proceeds  of  the 
"  Christian  Year."  Needless  to  say  that 
it  was  truly  a  labour  of  love.  There  are 


IX    AND    AROUND   WINCHESTER         53 

fine  brass  tablets  in  the  chancel  erected  in 
memory  of  its  author  and  his  wife.  We 
were  .glad  they  were  not  buried  there,  un- 
der bricks  and  stones  and  mortar,  but  out 
in  the  quiet  sunshine  where  trees  waved, 
birds  sang,  and  flowers  blossomed  —  asleep 
side  by  side  in  the  very  shadow  of  the 
church  and  vicarage.  Buttercups,  daisies, 
and  wild  grasses  grew  close  to  the  low 
tombs,  nodding  and  dancing  as  gayly  as  if 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  death. 

The  Old  World  is  a  palimpsest.  The 
parchment  has  been  used  over  and  over 
again.  Even  this  secluded  spot  was  no  ex- 
ception. As  in  Dumfries  the  mind  wanders 
back  from  the  statue  of  Robert  Burns,  and 
Gray-Friars'  Church  near  which  it  stands, 
to  that  other,  earlier  "Church  of  the  Minori- 
ties" which  once  occupied  the  same  site, 
and  before  whose  high  altar  Robert  Bruce 
slew  the  Red  Comyn,  —  so  here  we,  who 
had  come  solely  for  the  sake  of  John  Keble, 
found  ourselves  confronted  by  another  in- 


54        IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER 

terest.  Richard  Cromwell,  son  of  Oliver, 
and  second  Lord  Protector,  married  Doro- 
thy, a  daughter  of  Richard,  Mayor  of  Mer- 
don  Castle,  Hursley,  and  lived  here  during 
his  father's  protectorate,  devoting  himself 
mainly  to  the  sports  of  a  country  gentle- 
man. It  is  quaintly  said  that  the  great 
iconoclast  "did  not  think  highly  of  his 
son's  capacity,"  and  that  he  was  more  than 
willing  to  have  him  keep  out  of  his  impe- 
rious, if  not  imperial,  presence.  Richard 
and  the  fair  Dorothea,  and  one,  or  more,  of 
their  children,  were  buried  in  the  chancel  of 
the  old  church  ;  but  changes  were  made 
when  it  was  rebuilt.  Now  the  tombs  and 
monuments  of  the  Cromwell  family  are  in 
the  southwest  corner  of  the  nave. 

After  gathering  grasses  and  buttercups 
as  souvenirs  of  Hursley  Churchyard,  we 
drove  on  a  few  miles  further  to  pay  some 
visits.  Some  hours  later,  returning  to 
Winchester  by  another  route,  we  followed 
the  fair  banks  of  the  Itchen  past  Bishop- 


IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER         55 

Stoke  and  Compton,  till  at  length  we  saw 
in  the  distance  the  green  rounded  height 
of  St.  Catharine's  Hill,  and  below  it  the 
square  towers  of  the  Church  and  Hospital 
of  St.  Cross. 

We  entered  in  under  a  fine  vaulted  gate- 
way with  a  square  turret  above  it,  and 
found  ourselves  in  a  small  court,  on  one 
side  of  which  was  the  porter's  lodge.  A 
tall,  slender,  gentle-eyed  woman,  with  a 
little  boy  clinging  to  her  skirts,  responded 
to  our  knock  by  opening  the  upper  half  of 
the  door.  We  paid  our  sixpences,  and 
were  about  to  pass  on  when  she  said,  with 
a  smile,  "  Will  you  have  your  dole  now,  or 
when  you  have  been  the  rounds  ?  " 

Now,  what  our  dole  might  be  was  quite 
beyond  our  knowledge ;  but,  acting  on  the 
principle  that  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the  bush,  it  seemed  wise  to  take  it 
when  it  was  offered. 

So,  "  We  will  have  it  now,  if  you  please," 
we  said  gravely.  Whereupon  the  portress 


56         IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER 

opened  the  lower  half  of  the  door  with  a 
hospitable  air,  and  bade  us  enter.  We 
were  in  a  small,  dark  room,  one  side  of 
which  was  devoted  to  a  table  laden  with 
souvenirs  for  sale,  photographs  innumer- 
able, and  dainty  porcelain  cups,  bowls,  and 
jugs  decorated  with  the  arms  of  St.  Cross. 
But  we  looked  round  for  our  dole  expec- 
tantly. From  an  urn-shaped  vessel  placed 
in  a  niche  in  the  wall  the  portress  filled 
two  drinking-cups — horn,  bound  with  sil- 
ver— with  pale,  amber-coloured  beer,  and 
presented  them  to  us  with  bits  of  bread 
about  two  inches  square. 

"The  poor  get  a  whole  slice,"  she  said, 
consolingly.  The  beer  was  not  so  bad  as 
to  flavour  that  day,  but  it  was  certainly 
amazingly  weak.  The  "  Wayfarer's  Dole  " 
is  said  to  be  the  last  known  survival  of 
the  good  old  custom  of  offering  food  to  all 
chance  comers.  We  felt  as  if  we  had  gone 
back  seven  centuries,  notwithstanding  the 
assurance  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  had 


IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER         57 

drank  from  that  very  cup  only  the  week 
before.  His  Royal  Highness  must  be  a 
frequent  guest  —  for  several  friends  of  ours 
have  been  thus  honoured. 

Then  we  passed  under  another  gateway 
into  the  large  quadrangle,  and  paused  to 
look  about  us.  In  front  of  us  was  a  beau- 
tiful gray  church ;  to  the  east  an  old  clois- 
ter ;  to  the  right,  forming  two  sides  of  the 
square,  a  row  of  curious  low,  white  houses, 
with  very  tall  chimneys,  connected  with  a 
longer  building  of  the  same  height,  but 
with  a  broad  arched  doorway  and  an 
imposing  flight  of  steps.  Each  little  house 
had  its  own  little  garden,  gay  with  flowers. 
Around  the  great  green  quadrangle  ran  a 
broad  gravelled  walk.  In  its  centre  was  an 
old  sun-dial  on  a  gray,  time-eaten  pedestal. 
As  we  looked,  still  standing  near  the  gate, 
a  gentle-faced  old  man  in  a  black  gown, 
with  a  silver  cross  on  his  breast,  came 
slowly  across  the  square  looking  at  us  in- 
quiringly. There  was  an  air  of  almost 


58         IN    AND    AROUNI>    WINCHESTER 

infantile  sweetness  and  simplicity  about 
him,  an  atmosphere  of  unworldliness,  so 
to  speak,  that  captivated  us  at  once.  In  a 
timorous,  hesitating  way  he  half  extended 
his  hand  in  welcome,  and  then  half  withdrew 
it  again  ;  and  when  we  cordially  gave  him 
ours,  begging  him  to  show  us  the  beautiful  old 
place,  he  beamed  and  brightened,  stepping 
off  bravely  as  he  led  us  from  point  to  point, 
babbling  delightedly  like  a  happy  child. 

The  "Ancient  Hospital  of  St.  Cross"  is 
not  in  the  least  a  hospital,  in  the  modern 
acceptation  of  the  word.  It  is  a  home  for 
poor  and  desolate  old  men,  and  represents 
two  distinct  "foundations"  —  that  of  Bishop 
Henri  de  Blois,  grandson  of  William  the 
Conqueror,  in  1136,  and  that  of  Cardinal 
Beaufort,  son  of  old  John  of  Gaunt,  in 
1444.  That  of  Bishop  Blois  was  intended 
to  wholly  support  "thirteen  poor  men,  fee- 
ble, and  so  reduced  in  strength  that  they 
cannot  support  themselves."  A  hundred 
other  poor  men  were  to  be  given  their  din- 


IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER        59 

ners  daily.  After  the  establishment  of  'this 
charity,  it  was  placed  in  the  charge  of  the 
Knights  Hospitallers  of  Jerusalem.  All 
went  well  for  a  time,  but  then  came  quar- 
rels and  misunderstandings,  cheating  and 
rapacity.  The  funds  dwindled  till  the 
Hundred  Men's  Dinner  failed,  and  the 
Thirteen  Brethren  had  to  shift  for  them- 
selves. At  length  brave  William  of  Wyke- 
ham  came  to  the  rescue,  and  recovered 
much  of  the  alienated  property ;  and  in 
1444  Cardinal  Beaufort  added  large  endow- 
ments, increased  the  buildings,  and  called 
the  establishment  "The  Almshouse  of 
Noble  Poverty."  This  later  foundation 
also  had  its  ups  and  downs,  becoming  at 
last  the  prey  of  mercenary  money-changers 
to  such  a  degree  that,  on  the  accession  of 
Henry  VII.,  the  income  was  only  enough 
for  the  support  of  a  chaplain  and  two 
brethren.  By  good  management,  however, 
it  was  at  length  restored  to  more  than  its 
original  prosperity,  and  the  present  income 


60        IN    AND    AROUND   WINCHESTER 

from  both  foundations  is  between  £3,000 
and  £4,000. 

The  scheme  of  management  provides, 
among  other  things,  "that  the  sep'arate 
existence  of  the  two  foundations  of  the 
Hospital  of  St.  Cross  and  the  Almshouse 
of  Noble  Poverty  be  clearly  recognized; 
that  the  maintenance  of  the  Hospital  shall 
be  the  first  charge  on  the  combined  income, 
and  that  the  number  of  these  brethren  shall 
not  be  less  than  thirteen."  It  also  provides 
that  the  brethren  of  the  Almshouse  of  Noble 
Poverty  shall  be  chosen  from  men  who  by 
misfortune  have  been  reduced  from  wealth 
to  penury.  There  are  now  seventeen  resi- 
dent brethren,  besides  the  master  and 
other  clergy,  and  new  buildings  are  about 
to  be  erected  for  the  accommodation  of  a 
larger  number. 

To  go  back  to  our  dear  old  gentleman. 
There  was  nothing  he  did  not  know,  and 
his  pride  in  the  place  was  beautiful  to  see. 
Every  stone  in  the  church  had  a  story, 


IN   AND   AROUND   WINCHESTER        6l 

every  window  and  arch  a  tongue.  To  him 
there  was  nothing  so  important,  nothing 
so  well  worth  seeing,  in  the  whole  wide 
world  as  what  he  was  showing  us  at 
that  very  moment  in  the  quadrangle  of  St. 
Cross.  His  placid  face  seemed  to  be  part 
of  the  scene  and  to  belong  to  it.  What  to 
him  was  the  fever  and  tumult  of  the  life 
outside  ?  what  the  surging  thunder  of  the 
waves  that  he  only  heard  in  the  far  dis- 
tance ?  what  the  mad  whirl  of  the  rushing, 
swarming,  scheming,  bargaining,  fighting 
multitudes  ?  What  had  his  own  past  been  ? 
Whatever  it  was,  he  had  forgotten  it,  with 
its  pains  and  its  conflicts.  For  him  there 
remained,  until  the  day  of  his  death,  only 
an  infinite  peace. 

There  was  a  lump  in  my  throat,  and  a 
very  suspicious  aching,  as  we  followed  him 
from  church  to  cloister,  and  from  thence 
across  the  court  to  the  "  Hundred  Mennes 
Hall,"  where  the  brethren  still  dine  to- 
gether on  state  occasions,  or  u  gaudy  days  " 


62         IX    AND    AROUND 

as  our  guide  called  them.  Here  the  old, 
blackened  roof-timbers  still  remain ;  here 
is  the  gallery  from  which  grace  was  said 
and  the  benediction  given,  and  where  often 
the  minstrels  sang  and  the  harpers  played 
in  the  old  days  of  knights  and  trouba- 
dours ;  here  is  the  dais  at  the  east  for  the 
high  officials,  with  the  humbler  tables  of 
the  brothers  ranged  along  the  sides;  and 
here  is  the  old  fireplace,  clouded  by  the 
smoke  of  centuries.  Here  are  the  black 
leathern  "  Jacks,"  or  jugs,  wherein  the  beer 
once  foamed,  and,  safely  shrined  behind 
glass  doors,  the  salt-cellars  and  candle- 
sticks of  the  great  Cardinal  himself.  You 
may  sit  in  his  chair  if  you  please,  and 
fancy  yourself  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

In  the  kitchen  our  gentle  old  guide 
showed  us  the  great  tables  where  the 
"joints"  are  carved. 

"  We  choose  for  the  best  cuts,"  he  said, 
"taking  our  turns  in  order.  See!"  and 
he  laughed  gleefully  as  he  pointed  to  a 


IN   AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER        63 

list  of  names  fastened  to  the  wall.  "It 
will  be  my  turn  to-morrow,  for  I  am 
Brother  Comas.  That's  my  name  —  the 
third  one." 

As  we  came  out  into  the  quadrangle 
again  he  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Would 
you  like  to  see  how  the  brethren  live?" 
he  asked.  "Would  it  please  you  to  see 
my  rooms  ?  " 

Indeed  it  would !  And  he  moved  with 
great  alacrity  down  the  gravelled  walk  to 
one  of  the  tiny  houses.  These  are  quite 
distinct,  though  not  detached,  each  having 
its  own  tall  chimney  in  front,  projecting 
like  a  buttress. 

"Here's  where  I  live,"  he  said,  with  a 
charming  air  of  proprietorship.  "  We're 
very  comfortable.  There's  no  choice  here. 
The  houses  are  all  alike." 

There  was  a  sitting-room,  or  parlour,  with 
a  bright  little  latticed  window  and  a  fire- 
place, a  bedroom  with  a  neat  white  bed, 
and  a  tiny  kitchen,  or  buttery,  with  a  sink 


64        IN    AND    AROUND   WINCHESTER 

and  running  water.  A  little  round  table 
was  drawn  up  before  the  fire,  and  the 
cloth  was  laid,  with  a  pretty  teacup  and 
saucer  and  sundry  other  dishes.  Brother 
Comas  had  evidently  been  about  to  make 
his  own  tea  when  our  approach  interrupted 
the  ceremony.  He  prattled  away  like  a 
pleased  child,  showing  us  all  his  small 
treasures,  and  evidently  enjoying  our  in- 
terest in  his  affairs  as  much  as  we  did. 
Bright  little  pictures  and  Christmas  cards 
adorned  the  white  walls,  and  he  displayed 
with  great  pride  a  photograph  of  the 
Queen,  in  a  walnut  frame. 

"  We  each  had  a  picture  of  Her  Maj- 
esty, for  a  present,  on  Coronation  Day," 
he  said.  "A  young  lady  sent  them  to  us. 
It  was  Lord  Eversley's  daughter,"  —  and 
we  thought  it  was  very  nice  of  the  young 
lady.  May  she  live  long,  and  be  happy  ! 
"These  things  amuse  us,"  he  added 
gently.  "Now  you  must  see  my  garden, 
and  have  some  flowers." 


IN   AND   AROUND   WINCHESTER        65 

"To  remember  you  by?"  said  Altera. 
"But  we  shall  not  need  them  for  that." 

I  wanted  a  daisy,  or  a  violet,  or  at  least 
a  pansy  ;  some  simple  flower  that  should 
be  like  the  old  man  himself.  But  that 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  ' '  They  are 
too  common,"  he  said,  and  persisted  in 
giving  us  great  waxy,  scentless,  red  and 
white  fuchsias  that  obstinately  refused  to 
be  pressed,  and,  in  fact,  dropped  from  their 
stems  before  we  got  back  to  the  Black 
Swan.  But  we  carried  away  with  us  some- 
thing better  than  flowers  —  the  memory  of 
a  beautiful  charity,  and  a  picture  of  lovely, 
serene  old  age  whose  colours  will  never 
fade.  Good-by,  dear  old  Brother  Comas! 

One  should  spend  weeks,  months,  years, 
not  days,  in  Winchester.  There  is  no  spot 
in  all  England  better  worth  study,  or  more 
compact  with  historic  associations  —  not 
even  London,  or  the  great  Abbey  itself 
where  the  historic  heart  of  London  beats. 
Its  well-authenticated  annals  date  from 


66        IN   AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER 

B.C.  700,  when  its  first  settlers  came  from  the 
north  of  France.  Then  followed  the  Belgse, 
who  named  the  place  the  White  City.  Ju- 
lius Caesar,  with  his  army,  visited  it  B.C. 
54.  Nearly  a  century  later  the  Emperor 
Vespasian,  cruising  round  the  southern 
coast,  reached  the  river  Itchen,  up  which 
he  pressed  till  arrested  by  St.  Catharine's 
Hill,  then  the  site  of  a  British  fort.  This 
he  captured,  and  so  commanded  the  whole 
valley.  Traces  of  the  Roman  occupation 
of  Winchester  are  found  on  every  side  ;  and 
from  it  still  run  the  six  great  Roman  roads 
that  connected  it  with  every  important 
town  in  the  Kingdom.  In  514  the  city  was 
taken  by  Cerdic,  the  Saxon,  and  a  great 
heathen  power  was  built  up  that  had  its 
headquarters  at  Hants,  and  stretched  its 
strong  arms  in  every  direction.  A  wild 
and  warlike  people,  tracing  their  descent 
from  Odin,  its  Saxon  conquerors  lived  in 
Teutonic  fashion,  and  their  worship  was  a 
nature  worship,  their  altars  being  the  hill- 


IN  ANO    AROUND   WINCHESTER        67 

tops  and  their  sacred  trees  the  oak  and  the 
ash.  But  at  last  there  came  to  them  a 
great  civilizing  force  in  the  person  of  "  Bir- 
inus,  the  Italian  Monk,  the  Benedictine, 
the  Winchester  saint.  .  .  .  Wessex  grew 
into  England.  And  of  this  Wessex,  this 
early  England,  Winchester  became  the  ac- 
knowledged capital." 

A  glorious  capital  it  was,  the  seat  of 
learning  and  the  arts,  the  home  of  kings, 
the  culminating  point  of  priestly  pomp  and 
power.  High  Street  is  English  history 
written  in  stone.  One  can  hardly  say  it  is 
beautiful,  though  it  has  beautiful  features, 
save  when  the  moonlight  irradiates,  softens, 
and  glorifies  it,  deepening  the  shadows, 
and  making  the  gabled  roofs,  the  high, 
narrow,  rounding  facades,  the  projecting 
balconies,  the  ancient  casements,  appear  as 
if  mounted  in  silver.  At  its  head  a  noble 
arched  gateway  leads  to  all  that  is  left  of 
the  ancient  castle,  one  of  the  fortresses  of 
William  of  Normandy,  and  his  favourite  resi- 


68         IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER 

dence.  From  it  William  Rufus  went  forth 
to  the  hunt  on  that  last  fatal  morning. 
Here  for  twenty  years  Eleanora  of  Aqui- 
taine  lived  under  guard,  a  prisoner  in  her 
own  palace.  Here  her  son,  Cceur  de  Lion, 
was  welcomed  by  his  nobles  when  he  re- 
turned from  captivity.  Here  kings  have 
died  and  kings  have  been  born  ;  here  lust 
has  reigned,  and  rapine  and  intrigue ;  and 
here  foul  murder  has  been  done  till  the 
courtyard  ran  with  blood,  as  befitted  a  me- 
diaeval castle.  But  all  that  remains  now  is 
the  great  hall,  with  its  lofty  marble  columns 
supporting  the  groined  roof,  and  its  fine 
thirteenth  century  windows  that  give  it  a 
most  churchly  air  —  all  save  the  base  of  a 
tower,  some  traces  of  a  moat,  and  a  subter- 
ranean passage  or  two. 

But  what  is  that  great  round  thing  hang- 
ing on  the  wall? 

"That  round  thing,  madam,"  says  the 
guide,  severely  but  impressively — "that 
round  thing  is  the  Table  of  King  Arthur  I " 


IN   AND    AROUND   WINCHESTER        69 

We  held  our  breath.  It  was  the  next 
thing  to  making  believe  find  his  grave,  and 
Guinevere's,  at  Glastonbury. 

The  "round  thing"  is  a  great  wooden 
wheel,  with  something  that  looks  like  a 
Tudor  rose  in  the  centre,  from  which  radi- 
ate twenty-four  divisions,  each  bearing  the 
name  of  a  knight.  A  grotesque  figure  of 
the  blameless  King  at  once  crowns  and 
binds  together  the  circle.  The  framework 
at  the  back  of  the  curious  structure  cer- 
tainly gives  some  plausibility  to  the  idea 
that  it  may  once  have  been  the  top  of  a 
table;  as  there  seem  to  be  mortises  for 
twelve  legs,  as  well  as  for  a  support  in  the 
middle.  At  any  rate,  it  is  very  old,  for  a 
chronicler  who  died  four  centuries  ago  re- 
fers to  it  in  connection  with  the  castle  ;  and 
it  was  regarded  as  a  noteworthy  antique 
as  far  back  as  the  reign  of  Henry  VI. 

It  is  a  mortifying,  if  ludicrous,  fact  that 
travellers  sometimes  shed  their  tears,  meta- 
phorically speaking,  on  the  wrong  spot  — 


70        IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER 

an  experience  that  befell  us  at  Winchester. 
The  old,  old  story,  even  if  it  is  a  fable,  of 
Henry  II.  and  Eleanor,  Rosamond,  the 
bower,  and  the  silken  clue  at  Woodstock, 
was  enough  to  make  us  feel  interested  in 
the  place  of  the  Queen's  long  imprisonment 
here.  One  day  we  started  out  to  find  it. 
It  was  before  we  had  been  to  the  castle ; 
and,  perhaps  not  unnaturally,  as  the  guide- 
books gave  us  no  information  on  that  point, 
we  supposed  that  edifice  and  the  royal  pal- 
ace to  be  quite  distinct.  We  went  first  to 
the  college  —  the  famous  "  Seinte  Marie 
College  of  Wynchestre,"  founded  by  Will- 
iam of  Wykehain,  and  the  Alma  Mater 
of  so  many  of  England's  best  and  bravest. 
But  it  was  vacation.  The  fine  old  build- 
ings were  undergoing  a  u  transitional " 
process  by  way  of  housecleaning  and  gen- 
eral freshening  up,  that  would  have  done 
their  learned  founder's  heart  good  had  he 
been  there  to  see.  We  had  to  content  our- 
selves with  glimpses  of  the  gateways,  the 


IN    AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER         7! 

quadrangles,  and  the  cloisters.  Boys  will 
be  boys,  even  if  they  afterward  grow  to  be 
bishops ;  and  if  deprived  of  the  glorious 
privilege  of  using  their  jackknives  on  oaken 
benches,  they  will  find  a  way  to  hew  their 
names  in  stone.  It  was  something  to  read, 
cut  by  his  own  hand,  "Thos.  Ken.  1646." 
Years  afterward,  his  evening  and  morn- 
ing hymns  were  written  for  a  manual  of 
prayers  arranged  for  the  use  of  the  Win- 
chester boys. 

But  as  we  could  not  gain  admission  to 
the  chapel  or  refectory,  we  did  not  linger 
long.  Once  more  outside,  and  wandering 
down  an  outlying  street,  we  came  to  the 
remains  of  a  moat,  a  high  wall,  and  a  gate. 
It  was  fastened  ;  but  as  we  looked  through 
the  bars  we  saw  a  boy  in  a  cart  driving 
down  a  winding,  shaded  road  toward  us. 

"  What  is  this  place  ?  "  I  asked,  for  we 
saw  ruins  and  an  ivy-mantled  tower  in  the 
distance.  "  Can  we  go  in  ?" 

"It  is  the  old  palace,  lady,"  the  lad  an- 


72        IN   AND    AROUND   WINCHESTER 

swered.  "  I  am  at  work  in  there,  and  have 
orders  to  keep  the  gate  fastened.  But  if 
you  want  to  go  in  while  I  am  gone  with 
this  load,  I  can  let  you  out  when  I  come 
back." 

The  old  palace  of  Winchester,  of  which 
we  were  in  search  !  Accepting  the  offer  of 
temporary  imprisonment  gladly,  we  en- 
tered the  still,  shady  inclosure  and  wan- 
dered about  the  pile  of  crumbling  ruins,  so 
entrancingly  beautiful  in  their  picturesque, 
ivy-wreathed  decay,  for  a  long  half-hour, 
wondering  out  of  which  of  the  fair  case- 
ments the  imprisoned  Queen  had  looked 
with  tear-wet  eyes  when,  in  that  memorable 
letter  to  the  Pope,  she  declared  herself  to 
be  "Eleaiiora,  by  the  wrath  of  God  Queen 
of  England."  She  may  have  been  a  bad 
woman  —  as  undoubtedly  she  was  —  but 
she  was  also  so  wretched  in  her  last  sorrow- 
laden  years  that  no  woman  can  refuse  to 
pity  her. 

The  boy  came  back  at  last  and  let  us  out. 


IN   AND    AROUND    WINCHESTER        73 

Months  afterward,  by  close  study  of  a  map 
of  Winchester,  we  unfortunately  discovered 
that  the  ruins  over  which  we  had  heaved 
our  sighs  were  those  of  the  magnificent 
Bishop's  Palace  which  was  demolished  by 
the  soldiers  of  the  Commonwealth,  and  is 
not  known  to  have  had  any  connection 
whatever  with  the  once  gay  and  beautiful 
Eleanora  of  Aquitaine. 


HI 

WINCHESTER    AND    ITS    SHADOW 
PICTURES 

II  JEAN  WHILE,  had  we  not  seen  the 
Cathedral?  Certainly  we  had,  and 
more  than  once.  But  who  shall  attempt 
to  describe  that  which  is  indescribable  ? 
Externally,  Winchester  is  less  beautiful 
than  its  neighbours,  Salisbury  and  Wells. 
It  is  grand,  sombre,  fortress-like,  this 
largest  of  the  English  cathedrals,  which 
is  556  feet  from  east  to  west — forty -two 
feet  longer  than  majestic  Canterbury.  The 
vast  mountain  of  stone  seems  heavy ;  and 
one  longs  for  soaring  spires  and  lofty 
turrets  to  lift  it  heavenward.  But  all  this 
is  forgotten  when  once  one  enters  in  at 
the  comparatively  low  west  entrance,  and 
the  eye  takes  in  the  splendid,  unbroken 
74 


WINCHESTER  75 

sweep  of  nave  and  choir  and  presbytery, 
to  the  great  altar  and  the  glorious  window 
above  it.  The  choir-screen  is  so  low  that 
one  looks  over  it  into  the  glory  beyond ; 
and  if  the  cathedral  visitor  ever  feels  like 
chanting  a  Te  Deum,  it  is  when  he  can 
do  this.  Even  here  he  would  almost  be 
willing  to  sacrifice  the  white  reredos,  with 
its  exquisite,  lace-like,  airy  pinnacles,  for 
the  sake  of  being  able  to  see  in  one  swift 
glance  what  lies  behind  it.  Yet  doubtless 
the  mighty  builders  knew  what  they  were 
about.  It  is  well  sometimes  to  go  on 
"from  glory  to  glory." 

If  it  did  not  come  to  him  in  some  rare 
dream  of  the  night  for  which  he  was  in 
no  wise  responsible,  William  of  Wykeham 
was  a  bold  man  when  he  conceived  the 
idea  of  changing  the  heavy  Norman  col- 
umns of  the  nave  into  the  springing,  soar- 
ing, perpendicular  Gothic.  Yet  the  un- 
touched transepts  are  so  magnificent  in 
their  massive,  Titanic  grandeur,  that  one 


76  WINCHESTER 

could  almost  sympathize  with  one  of  the 
enthusiastic  vergers,  who  exclaimed,  with 
a  wave  of  the  hand  that  included  the 
whole  lofty  nave,  "  With  all  due  reverence 
for  our  noble  William  of  Wykeham,  I 
sometimes  wish  he  had  let  it  alone ! " 

Winchester  is  rich  beyond  all  words  in 
shrines  and  tombs  and  chantries  innumer- 
able, where  the  insensate  marble  blossoms 
into  airy,  flower-like  forms  that  seem  too 
delicate  to  be  the  work  of  the  human 
chisel.  In  one  of  the  proudest  of  all,  on 
the  very  spot  where,  as  a  boy,  he  prayed, 
William  of  Wykeham,  architect,  bishop, 
chancellor,  keeper  of  the  privy  seal,  and 
founder  of  two  colleges,  sleeps  his  last 
sleep  in  a  bed  of  his  own  devising. 

The  mere  roll-call  of  the  men  who  are 
buried  in  Winchester  stirs  the  soul  like 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet  —  kings,  cardinals, 
warriors,  and  statesmen,  whose  words  and 
deeds  changed  the  destinies  of  nations. 
Here,  too,  in  the  north  aisle  of  the  nave, 


AND    ITS    SHADOW   PICTURES  77 

with  the  soaring,  fan-traceried  vaultings  of 
the  roof  bending  over  her  like  tree-tops,  lies 
gentle,  white-souled  Jane  Austen,  and  near 
her  brilliant  Lady  Montague.  Mindful  of 
certain  young  men  I  know,  who  love  old 
Isaac  Walton  better  than  any  priest  or 
prelate  of  them  all,  I  tried  long  and  vainly 
to  find  his  tomb.  Then  I  appealed  to  the 
verger.  "Come  with  me,"  he  whispered 
— for  it  was  during  the  evening  service. 
Leading  the  way  to  Prior  Silkstede's  Chapel, 
he  lifted  a  rug  from  the  floor,  and  on  a 
dingy  black  marble  slab  I  read  this: 

"  Here  Lyeth  the  body  of 

MR.  IZAAK  WALTON, 

Who  dyed  the  16th  of  December, 

1683. 

Alas !  Hee's  gone  before, 
Gone  to  returne  no  more. 
Our  panting  Breasts  aspire 
After  their  aged  sire, 
Whose  well  spent  life  did  last 
Full  ninety  years,  and  past, 


78  WINCHESTER 

But  now  he  hath  begun 
That  which  shall  nere  be  done, 
Crowned  with  eternall  Blisse 
We  wish  our  souls  with  his. 
Votis  modestis  sic  pier unt  liberi." 

It  did  not  seem  a  fitting  resting-place 
for  the  gentle  angler,  in  that  dark  corner, 
with  a  weight  of  marble  on  his  breast. 
He  should  lie  with  Keble,  instead,  in  the 
sunny  churchyard  at  Hursley. 

Winchester  suffered  terribly  during  many 
a  civil  war,  even  before  the  days  of  the 
Roundheads.  But  Cromwell's  troopers 
seemed  to  have  an  especial  spite  against 
it.  They  used  the  beautiful  choir  and 
presbytery  as  stables,  and  made  kindling 
wood  of  the  exquisite  oak  carving  of  the 
stalls.  There  is  scarcely  a  spot  where  in- 
tolerance and  iconoclasm  have  not  wrought 
their  wild  will.  The  great  west  window 
is  now  filled  with  precious  fragments  of 
thirteenth  century  glass  which  were  col- 
lected by  some  pious  soul  after  the  spears 


AND    ITS    SHADOW    PICTURES  79 

of  the  Roundheads  had  done  their  work 
of  destruction.  Every  tomb,  every  effigy, 
every  base  and  column,  shows  the  marks 
of  the  disfiguring  hammer.  On  one  of  the 
mural  monuments  are  sculptured  figures  of 
three  lovely  little  boys.  One  has  lost  both 
feet,  another  his  hands,  and  the  other  his 
nose.  One  room  is  a  storehouse  of  frag- 
ments —  headless  trunks,  broken  legs, 
arms,  and  heads,  some  of  them  of  great 
beauty.  The  wholesale  destruction  is  sick- 
ening. But  nothing  touched  us  so  deeply  as 
the  empty  coffin  of  a  baby,  with  the  stone 
pillow  hollowed  out  to  receive  the  little 
head.  It  was  a  hard  couch,  at  the  best, 
for  which  to  exchange  a  mother's  soft, 
warm  bosom.  Yet  the  baby  could  not 
keep  even  that,  and  its  ashes  are  scattered 
to  the  four  winds. 

While  we  were  in  this  "chamber  of  hor- 
rors," a  Scotchwoman,  tall,  grave,  sedate, 
and  severe,  with  a  group  of  young  girls  in  her 
charge,  joined  our  party.  The  lassies  were 


80  WINCHESTER 

shocked  at  the  wanton,  wholesale  slaughter 
of  the  innocents.  "  It  is  such  a  pity  !  such 
a  pity ! "  cried  one  of  them,  touching  a 
mutilated  arm  with  her  soft  fingers. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  exclaimed  the  elder  woman, 
turning  upon  her  sharply.  "Do  not  say 
that !  It  was  a  war  with  superstition. 
Remember  that  with  every  blow  of  the 
hammer  a  soul  was  set  free." 

But  young  Scotia,  as  well  as  young 
America,  has  ideas  of  its  own.  The  girl 
coloured  to  the  temples  under  the  rebuke 
of  her  chaperon ;  but  she  repeated,  half 
under  her  breath,  "Nevertheless,  I  am 
sorry;  I  cannot  see  how  this  was  serving 
God,  or  doing  His  will." 

Winchester  is  a  place  wherein  to  see 
visions  and  to  dream  dreams.  In  spite  of 
one's  will,  the  spiritual  eye  grows  blind  to 
the  splendours  of  to-day,  the  spiritual  ear 
grows  dead  to  the  echoing  thunder  of  the 
great  organ,  the  voices  of  the  chanters 
chanting  ever  so  loudly,  the  swell  of  the 


AND    ITS    SHADOW   PICTURES  8 1 

high  anthems,  and  the  intoning  of  the 
prayers.  What  does  it  matter  that  much 
has  changed,  and  that  there  is  little,  or 
nothing,  visible  now  to  recall  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  cathedral  up  whose  humbler  nave 
Egbert  the  Saxon,  first  king  of  all  Eng- 
land, marched  to  his  crowning?  So  does 
yonder  tree  change,  season  by  season. 
There  is  not  a  fibre  of  it,  root,  trunk,  bough, 
branch,  or  leaf,  that  did  its  office  a  hundred 
years  ago.  Yet  it  is  the  same  tree.  And  so 
we  may  truly  say  it  was  here  that  Alfred 
came  to  pray ;  it  was  to  this  altar  the  peo- 
ple crowded  in  their  extremity  with  the 
heaven-piercing  cry,  "Deliver  us,  0  Lord, 
from  the  fury  of  the  Northmen."  Twenty 
years  more,  and  up  the  broad  aisles  sweeps 
a  bridal  train,  and  Ethelred  the  Unready 
weds  Emma,  the  Fair  Maid  of  Normandy, 
the  fame  of  whose  beauty  has  come  down 
to  this  far  day.  Fair  indeed  she  must 
have  been  on  that  bridal  morn  in  the  pride 
of  her  youth  and  loveliness,  the  pomp  and 
o 


82  WINCHESTER 

splendour  of  her  marriage  robes,  and  the 
gleam  of  the  jewels  that  her  eyes  outshone. 
But  the  pageant  fades,  the  picture 
changes.  Dim  lights  burn  low  upon  the 
altar,  only  intensifying  the  deep  shadows 
that  lurk  in  the  near  spaces.  All  else  is 
dark  and  sombre.  No  ray  of  the  faint,  far 
light  penetrates  the  deep  gloom  without  the 
choir,  or  gilds  its  darkness  with  a  passing 
glory.  Prone  on  the  steps  of  the  altar  a 
woman  clad  in  sackcloth  lies  all  night  long, 
with  her  fair  hair  dishevelled  and  her 
cheeks  pale  with  prayer  and  watching. 
"Mother  of  sorrows,  help  me,  save  me!" 
she  cries,  lifting  her  clasped  hands  to  the 
pitying  face  of  the  Virgin.  For,  on  the 
morrow,  Emma  of  Normandy,  wife  of 
Ethelred,  and  mother  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor, now  a  faded  woman  whose  youth 
has  fled  like  a  dream,  is  by  her  own  de- 
mand to  undergo  as  a  test  of  innocence  the 
fearful  ordeal  by  fire  ;  and  to  walk  barefoot 
over  the  nine  red-hot  ploughshares  placed 


AND    ITS    SHADOW   PICTURES  83 

yonder  in  the  nave.  Whether  this  de- 
mand is  born  of  conscious  rectitude,  or  of 
bravado,  let  us  not  inquire  too  closely. 
Yet,  ere  another  nightfall,  her  proud  son 
Edward  shall  kneel  in  abasement  and  sub- 
mit to  penance  before  this  same  altar,  im- 
ploring pardon  of  Heaven  and  of  her. 

Hark !  to  the  tramp  and  the  neighing  of 
steeds,  to  the  shouts  and  oaths  of  retainers 
and  grooms,  to  the  clashing  of  armour  and 
the  ringing  of  steel.  The  west  door  swings 
open.  With  a  dozen  men-at-arms  at  his 
heels,  who  comes  hither  in  brazen  helmet 
and  shirt  of  mail,  with  breastplate  and 
hauberk,  spear  and  shield?  He  comes 
from  Southampton,  and  his  name  is  Ca- 
nute. The  stony  pavement  rings  beneath 
his  tread,  as  he  strides  on  past  the  great 
tower-piers  into  the  choir,  and  hangs  his 
jewelled  crown  above  the  high  altar.  It  is 
an  offering  from  him  whom  the  sea  would 
not  obey,  to  Him  who  made  the  sea  —  the 
King  of  kings. 


84  WINCHESTER 

Many  another  comes  and  goes ;  and  now 
it  is  "  the  smiling  season  of  the  year,  when 
days  are  long  and  bright" — Whitsunday, 
1068.  The  great  church  is  ablaze  with 
light  and  colour,  decked  for  a  festival  in 
deed,  with  hangings  of  purple  and  cloth  of 
gold,  rich  embroideries,  and  laces  worth  a 
duke's  ransom.  From  door  to  chancel  are 
spread  the  wondrous  tapestries  of  France 
and  the  Orient,  for  one  cometh  whom  the 
King  delights  to  honour.  How  shall  Will- 
iam of  Normandy  more  fitly  celebrate  the 
coronation  of  Matilda,  his  queen,  than  by 
being  himself  recrowned,  with  a  pomp  and 
splendour  that  shall  quite  overshadow  the 
earlier  ceremony  at  Westminster  ?  Hearken 
now  to  the  joyful  clamour  of  the  bells,  and 
the  peal  of  the  great  organ  as  the  stately 
procession  advances  !  How  eagerly  do  the 
nobles  of  England,  her  knights  and  barons, 
lean  forward  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of 
their  Norman  queen !  Her  step  is  full  of 
grace  and  dignity,  her  mien  is  majesty 


AND    ITS    SHADOW    PICTURES  85 

itself.  Her  face  is  beautiful  and  delicate ; 
her  hair  falls  in  long,  waving  tresses  be- 
neath her  transparent  veil.  And  see  !  she 
wears  the  "mantle  worked  at  Winchester 
by  Aldaret's  wife  "  —  for  the  Saxon  women 
were  famed  even  then  for  their  fine  needle- 
work. Beneath  it  the  modest  stole  is  gath- 
ered round  the  throat  in  regular  folds  ;  and 
a  robe  of  silver  tissue,  with  falling  sleeves, 
and  a  gemmed  girdle  confining  the  rich 
plaits  that  sweep  the  ground,  completes  a 
costume  worthy  of  a  Greek  goddess.  Pass 
on,  Matilda  of  Flanders,  and  bend  your 
stately  head  to  receive  the  crown  from 
Aldred,  Archbishop  of  York.  But  as  you 
receive  it,  pray  —  for  there  are  dark  days 
coming,  wherein  your  woman's  heart  shall 
quail.  Shall  curfew  ring  to-night,  0  lovely 
queen  ? 

Storm  and  tempest,  and  a  mighty  rushing 
wind  ;  the  fierce  glare  of  the  lightning,  and 
the  crashing  of  thunderbolts.  No  festal 
day  is  this.  The  church  is  sombre  as  the 


86  WINCHESTER 

grave  that  yawns  beneath  the  great  tower. 
Yet  scarcely  a  man  or  woman  in  England, 
or  in  the  whole  earth,  mourns,  though  an 
arrow  has  hit  the  mark  in  New  Forest,  and 
a  bloody  corse  is  borne  hither  for  burial. 
Lay  it  down  if  you  dare,  in  this  consecrated 
spot,  O  lords  and  nobles  !  Say  your  prayers 
over  it,  O  priests !  But  the  very  stones 
of  your  tower  will  cry  out  at  the  sacrilege, 
and  refuse  to  lift  their  fine  tracery  above 
the  dust  of  William  Rufus. 

Again  the  vision  changes.  Who  is  this, 
the  embodiment  of  martial  and  manly 
grace,  "with  yellow  curls,  a  bright  com- 
plexion, and  a  figure  like  Mars  himself" 
—  who  but  Cceur  de  Lion,  bold  knight, 
valiant  crusader,  challenger  of  Saladin, 
troubadour,  minstrel,  and  poet,  just  home 
from  the  wars  and  ready  for  his  second 
crowning  here  at  Winchester?  Verily, 
there  must  have  been  a  strange  charm  in 
the  wearing  of  coronation  robes,  or  else  the 
crown  was  most  unstable,  when  the  cere- 


AND    ITS    SHADOW   PICTURES  87 

monial  had  need  to  be  so  oft  repeated. 
Slowly  the  young  king  moves  from  arch  to 
arch,  under  a  canopy  of  white  satin  with 
golden  fringe,  which  is  borne  on  the  glitter- 
ing lances  of  four  noble  knights,  his  com- 
rades on  the  tented  field.  From  every 
coign  of  vantage  myriads  of  eyes  are  bent 
upon  him,  and  the  noise  of  the  slight  stir- 
ring of  the  multitude  is  like  the  rustling  of 
leaves  in  a  mighty  forest.  Richard  wears 
a  rose-coloured  tunic  belted  round  the 
waist,  and  over  it  is  a  long  mantle  of  striped 
silver  tissue,  embroidered  with  silver  half- 
moons.  His  sword  of  fine  Damascus  steel 
has  a  hilt  of  gold,  and  on  those  yellow  curls 
a  plumed  and  jewelled  cap  sits  jauntily. 
Many  a  maiden's  heart  beats  quickly  as  his 
bold,  bright  eyes  do  homage  to  the  fairest  of 
the  fair  —  for  is  not  her  monarch  the  very 
flower  of  chivalry,  the  rose  and  thorn  of 
war  ?  And  is  there  not  a  wild  rumour  of  es- 
trangement between  him  and  Berengaria  of 
Navarre  ?  Strange  things  may  come  to  pass  ! 


QO  WINCHESTER 

of  Saint  George,  and  of  his  Fader  and 
Moder." 

But  the  multiplied  "Blessynges"  failed 
to  bring  him  long  life,  and  the  next 
pageant  in  which  our  young  Prince  Arthur 
bore  part  was  that  of  his  burial. 

Now  another  century  has  passed.  Where 
shall  Henry  VIII.  entertain  his  friend  and 
royal  brother,  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  if 
not  in  Winchester  Castle,  and  where  shall 
the  two  saintly  confreres  say  their  prayers 
if  not  in  the  Cathedral?  They  kneel  at 
the  confessional ;  they  pay  their  oblations  ; 
they  receive  absolution  for  their  royal  sins ; 
and  then  off  they  go,  striding  down  the 
nave  with  clash  of  sword  and  glint  of 
spur,  ready  for  new  deeds  of  darkness  — 
murder,  and  rapine,  and  the  betrayal  of 
the  innocent. 

There  is  a  "  cruel  wind  and  a  down- 
pouring  rain"  on  Monday,  July  25,  1554, 
when  Philip  of  Spain,  with  a  cavalcade  of 
four  thousand  gentlemen,  rides  into  Win- 


AND   ITS    SHADOW   PICTURES  9! 

Chester  to  meet  his  bride,  Mary  of  England. 
But  first  —  for,  cruel  and  bigoted  and  im- 
moral as  he  is,  he  is  "  strict  in  all  religious 
observances" — the  impatient  bridegroom 
piously  conies  hither  to  pray.  Already 
the  vast  arches  are  being  made  glorious 
for  the  bridal  that  shall  bring  such  woe  to 
England.  The  church  is  "richly  hanged 
with  Arras  and  Cloth  of  Gold,"  and  "from 
the  west  dore  unto  the  Roode  "  is  a  raised 
platform  "covered  all  with  Redd  Saye," 
on  which  their  imperial  highnesses  are  to 
walk  to  their  "traverses,"  or  thrones, 
"  underneth  the  Roode  Lofte."  It  is 
Wednesday  now,  and  the  imposing  cere- 
monial begins.  The  Prince,  magnificently 
apparelled  and  "  accompany ed  by  a  great 
nomber  of  the  Nobles  of  Spaine  in  such 
sorte  as  the  like  hath  not  been  seen,"  and 
Her  Majesty,  in  more  than  equal  magnifi- 
cence, attended  by  the  flower  of  the  Eng- 
lish nobility,  pass  through  the  choir  into 
the  Lady-Chapel,  where  their  vows  are 


90  WINCHESTER 

of  Saint  George,  and  of  his  Fader  and 
Moder." 

But  the  multiplied  "Blessynges"  failed 
to  bring  him  long  life,  and  the  next 
pageant  in  which  our  young  Prince  Arthur 
bore  part  was  that  of  his  burial. 

Now  another  century  has  passed.  Where 
shall  Henry  VIII.  entertain  his  friend  and 
royal  brother,  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  if 
not  in  Winchester  Castle,  and  where  shall 
the  two  saintly  confreres  say  their  prayers 
if  not  in  the  Cathedral?  They  kneel  at 
the  confessional ;  they  pay  their  oblations  ; 
they  receive  absolution  for  their  royal  sins ; 
and  then  off  they  go,  striding  down  the 
nave  with  clash  of  sword  and  glint  of 
spur,  ready  for  new  deeds  of  darkness  — 
murder,  and  rapine,  and  the  betrayal  of 
the  innocent. 

There  is  a  "  cruel  wind  and  a  down- 
pouring  rain"  on  Monday,  July  25,  1554, 
when  Philip  of  Spain,  with  a  cavalcade  of 
four  thousand  gentlemen,  rides  into  Win- 


AND    ITS    SHADOW    PICTURES  9! 

Chester  to  meet  his  bride,  Mary  of  England. 
But  first  —  for,  cruel  and  bigoted  and  im- 
moral as  he  is,  he  is  "strict  in  all  religious 
observances"  —  the  impatient  bridegroom 
piously  conies  hither  to  pray.  Already 
the  vast  arches  are  being  made  glorious 
for  the  bridal  that  shall  bring  such  woe  to 
England.  The  church  is  "richly  hanged 
with  Arras  and  Cloth  of  Gold,"  and  "  from 
the  west  dore  unto  the  Roode  "  is  a  raised 
platform  "covered  all  with  Redd  Saye," 
on  which  their  imperial  highnesses  are  to 
walk  to  their  "traverses,"  or  thrones, 
"underneth  the  Roode  Lofte."  It  is 
Wednesday  now,  and  the  imposing  cere- 
monial begins.  The  Prince,  magnificently 
apparelled  and  "  accompany ed  by  a  great 
nomber  of  the  Nobles  of  Spaine  in  such 
sorte  as  the  like  hath  not  been  seen,"  and 
Her  Majesty,  in  more  than  equal  magnifi- 
cence, attended  by  the  flower  of  the  Eng- 
lish nobility,  pass  through  the  choir  into 
the  Lady-Chapel,  where  their  vows  are 


92  WINCHESTER 

to  be  exchanged.  Six  bishops,  with  their 
croziers  borne  before  them,  take  part  in 
the  stately  service,  when,  in  the  name  of 
the  realm,  Mary  is  given  away  by  the 
Marquis  of  Winchester.  The  chapel  is 
ablaze  with,  jewels,  but  when  the  ring  is 
placed  upon  the  royal  finger,  it  is  a  plain 
circlet.  Her  Majesty  wills  to  be  "wedded 
with  a  plain  hoop  of  gold,  like  any  other 
maiden." 

Let  us  turn  away  —  for  from  this  brilliant 
marriage  shall  come  pain  and  travail  and 
unutterable  woe.  English  blood  shall  flow 
like  water,  and  fires  shall  be  kindled  that 
will  be  the  very  flames  of  hell. 

Thus  it  is  that  the  shadow  pictures  come 
and  go  all  the  while  that  the  prayers  are 
being  prayed,  and  the  anthems  chanted, 
and  the  high  pure  voices  of  the  choir  boys 
soar  like  skylarks  into  the  far  heaven  of 
the  roof. 

Is  that  the  benediction?  Let  us  go 
hence. 


IV 

A  BOY  BISHOP 

Ylf  HEN  we  reached  Salisbury  on  a  cer- 
tain fair  evening  late  in  June  we  were 
still  under  the  strong  enchantment  of  the 
spells  woven  about  us  by  Wells  and  Glaston- 
bury.  We  were  still  living  and  moving  in  a 
dream  from  which  we  were  slow  to  awaken. 
Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  solely  that 
Salisbury  seemed  to  us  an  enchanter  less 
subtle,  less  powerful,  than  its  neighbours. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  and  making  all  due  al- 
lowance for  moods  and  tenses,  it  is  certain 
that  we  found  Salisbury  Cathedral  more 
beautiful  and  charming  than  impressive. 
The  witchery,  the  glamour,  of  moonlight 
seems  a  part  of  Wells,  and  to  belong  to  it. 
Winchester  is  bathed  in  a  twilight  glory, 
indescribable,  incommunicable.  But  Salis- 
93 


94  A    BOY   BISHOP 

bury,  wonderfully  beautiful  in  its  exterior, 
with  its  setting  of  green  closes  and  over- 
shadowing trees,  with  its  soaring  spire,  so 
light,  so  graceful,  so  airy,  that  the  eye  follows 
its  upward  flight  into  the  blue  sky  as  it  fol- 
lows the  flight  of  a  bird,  yet  lacks  something 
of  the  atmosphere  of  romance  and  mystery. 
It  is  broad,  clear  daylight.  The  whole  mag- 
nificent structure  is  gay,  brilliant,  almost 
buoyant,  rather  than  grand.  The  shining 
floors,  the  glittering,  glistering  brass  of 
choir-screen  and  lectern,  the  green  lustre 
of  the  polished  Purbeck  shafts,  all  are  ra- 
diant in  the  clear  white  light  that  streams 
into  the  gloriously  vaulted  nave  from  the 
triple  lancets  of  the  great  clerestory  win- 
dows. Here  are  no  brooding  shadows,  no 
deep,  mysterious  recesses  wherein  thought 
and  imagination  lose  themselves ;  here  is 
no  "dim,  religious  light,"  strained  through 
jewelled  casements  that  hold  the  captive 
sunshine  of  six  hundred  years.  So  bright 
and  fair  is  the  vast  airy  space,  that  the  tombs 


A   BOY   BISHOP  95 

and  effigies  ranged  in  long  rows  beneath  the 
great  arches  seem  strangely  out  of  place. 
One  wonders  how  they  can  sleep  here  so 
quietly,  these  mail-clad  warriors,  these 
stately  beauties  in  ruff  and  girdled  robe, 
these  saintly  men  and  women  whose  clasped 
hands  have  been  lifted  in  mute,  imploring 
prayer  for  so  many  centuries.  The  roll-call 
is  long,  and  the  names  are  famous.  Here 
lies  William  Longspee,  son  of  Henry  II.  and 
Fair  Rosamond  Clifford,  in  chain  mail,  with 
his  good  sword  by  his  side,  and  on  his  left 
arm  his  shield,  bearing  six  lions  rampant. 
The  sturdy  legs  are  uncrossed,  to  show  us 
he  was  no  crusader  in  spite  of  shield  and 
surcoat.  But  yonder  lies  his  son,  with 
hand  on  hilt  of  sword,  a  lion  at  his  feet,  and 
his  legs  crossed  like  those  of  the  bronze 
knights  in  Temple  Church.  This  second 
William  Longspee  was  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  the  crusaders  under  Saint 
Louis,  and  was  slain  fighting  for  cross  and 
holy  sepulchre  at  Cairo  in  1250. 


96  A    BOY   BISHOP 

There,  too,  in  the  Lady-Chapel,  with  no 
"marble  herse"  to  mark  the  spot,  are  the 
ashes  of  — 

"  The  glory  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother," 

whose  name,  thus  embalmed,  will  outlast 
that  of  any  knight  or  crusader  of  them 
all. 

We  lingered  long  beside  the  tomb  of  the 
Boy  Bishop,  on  which  lies  the  effigy  of  a 
child  not  more  than  three  feet  long,  but 
wearing  the  robe  and  mitre  of  a  bishop. 
In  the  small  left  hand  is  the  pastoral  staff, 
and  the  right  is  raised  in  benediction. 
There  is  a  curious  legend  connected  with 
this  tomb.  The  story  goes  that  upon  St. 
Nicholas'  Day  the  boys  of  the  choir  were 
accustomed  to  elect,  from  their  own  num- 
ber, one  who  for  a  month  (or  till  Holy 
Innocents'  Day)  was  known  as  the  Boy 
or  Choral  Bishop,  while  the  other  boys 
acted  as  canons.  What  part  they  took  in 
the  ordinary  worship  of  the  month,  this 


A    BOY    BISHOP  97 

chronicler  is  unable  to  say.  But  on  the 
eve  of  Innocents'  Day  they  all  attended 
the  Cathedral  service  in  great  state,  enter- 
ing by  the  west  door  in  due  processional 
pomp,  and  proceeded,  chanting,  up  the  nave 
to  the  high  altar.  There  was  swinging 
of  incense  and  burning  of  tapers  as  the 
magnificent  service  went  on  "  according  to 
the  use  of  Saruin." 

Out  of  this  curious  religious  pageant 
was  evolved,  so  to  speak,  the  Collect,  "O 
Almighty  God,  who  out  of  the  mouths 
of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  ordained 
strength,"  etc.  In  this  particular  in- 
stance, the  Boy  Bishop  died  during  the 
month  of  his  "little  brief  authority"  and 
was  buried,  like  a  real  prelate,  with  great 
pomp  and  in  full  pontifical  robes. 

It  is  a  pity  to  spoil  this  pretty  story,  but 
alas  !  the  world  is  given  over  to  iconoclasts. 
There  are  those  who  regard  it  as  a  fable, 
a  myth,  and  maintain  that  this  small 
marble  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an 


98  A    BOY    BISHOP 

effigy  in  miniature  of  some  one  of  the  old 
bishops  of  Sarum,  whose  very  name  is 
forgotten.  Yet  no  one  knows  of  a  surety  ; 
and  as  we  are  told  that  "Blind  unbelief 
is  sure  to  err,"  we  may  as  well  keep 
unwavering  faith  in  the  Boy  Bishop  of 
Salisbury. 

Another  monument  that  interested  us 
deeply,  not  for  the  beauty  it  lacks,  but 
for  its  historic  associations,  was  that  of 
Edward,  Earl  of  Hertford,  and  his  Count- 
ess, the  sister  of  Lady  Jane  Grey.  For 
this  marriage  he  was  imprisoned,  as  was 
she  also.  But  the  wife  was  more  fortunate 
than  the  husband.  They  were  separated 
by  her  release  from  the  Tower,  and  she 
died  the  following  year,  while  he  lingered 
long  in  durance.  Now  here  they  lie  peace- 
fully together,  —  reunited  after  a  separa- 
tion of  almost  sixty  years.  Peace  to  their 
ashes! 

Salisbury  is  unique  in  one  respect  at 
least.  Most  of  the  English  cathedrals 


A    BOY    BISHOP  99 

were  long  in  building.  They  grew  slowly 
from  age  to  age,  —  outgrowths  of  the 
thought  and  handiwork  and  devotion  of 
many  successive  generations.  This  one 
sprang  up,  comparatively,  in  a  day ;  and 
the  day,  as  to  architecture,  was  that  of 
the  then  new,  or  pointed,  style — the  Early 
English.  Of  this  it  still  remains  one  of 
the  most  perfect  examples.  It  was  only 
thirty-eight  years  from  foundation  stone 
to  consecration. 

When  one  paces  the  long  gray  arcades 
of  the  cloisters,  he  has  no  visions  of  ton- 
sured monks.  Salisbury  being  a  cathedral 
of  the  old  foundation  —  i.e.,  one  whose 
chapter  has  always  been  collegiate,  rather 
than  monastic  —  these  were  never  the 
cloisters  of  a  monastery.  In  point  of  fact, 
they  are  of  later  date  than  the  rest  of  the 
building,  and  are  beautiful  exceedingly. 

So  is  the  noble  octagonal  chapter-house, 
with  its  soaring  roof  upheld  by  the  graceful 
central  column,  arching  like  the  spray  of  a 


100  A    BOY   BISHOP 

fountain,  its  beautiful  doorway  and  entrance 
arch,  and  its  curious  sculptures.  After  all, 
when  one  recalls  the  manifold  beauties  of 
fair  Salisbury,  it  seems  cruel  to  quarrel 
with  it  for  any  lack  of  sombre,  impressive 
stateliness. 


V 
A  GLORIOUS  TRIO 

A     FIRST    visit   to   London    cannot   be 

"^  other  than  fatiguing,  bewildering,  over- 
whelming. The  vastness,  the  majesty  of 
it  all,  one's  sense  of  the  shortness  of  time 
and  the  limitations  of  strength,  the  eager- 
ness to  do  and  to  see,  to  listen  to  the  voices 
of  the  storied  streets,  to  tread  in  the  foot- 
steps of  the  mighty  dead,  and  to  make  the 
most  of  the  associations  swarming  at  every 
corner,  —  all  these  keep  one  continually  on 
the  rack.  London  is  indeed  the  heart  of 
the  world,  and  to  listen  to  its  mighty  throb- 
bings  is  overpowering. 

We   had   seen   too    much,  thought   too 
much,   felt  too  much;    and    the   reaction 
had  come  when  we  took  the  Great  West- 
101 


102  A    GLORIOUS   TRIO 

ern  Railway  en  route  for  Peterborough. 
But  our  spirits  rose  as  we  left  London, 
and  before  we  fairly  lost  sight  of  its 
multitudinous  chimney-pots,  we  were  like 
children  out  of  school.  Two  hours  brought 
us  to  our  destination,  in  the  heart  of  the 
low  fen  country.  Flat,  and  often  marshy, 
intersected  by  canal-like  ditches,  with 
windmills  towering  aloft  and  whirling 
their  giant  arms,  it  was  like  a  little 
glimpse  of  Holland.  Why  is  a  windmill 
always  a  picturesque  feature  in  a  land- 
scape ?  There  seems  to  be  no  reason  why 
it  should  be  any  more  attractive  to  the 
aesthetic  sense  than  a  barn  with  a  weather- 
vane.  But  the  fact  remains. 

Night  was  falling  as  we  rolled  into  the 
borough  of  St.  Peter,  and  in  two  hours  we 
were  asleep. 

The  next  morning  we  sallied  forth  to  ex- 
plore the  ancient  city ;  in  other  words,  to 
find  the  Cathedral,  which  is  the  town's  rea- 
son for  being.  Soon  we  reached  the  busy 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  103 

market-place,  with  its  stalls  and  booths,  its 
carts  and  carriages,  its  patient  little  don- 
keys, and  its  meek  horses  gravely  munch- 
ing oats  from  bags  swinging  under  their 
noses.  It  was  market-day.  The  place 
was  full  of  animation  and  colour,  with  blue 
and  white  umbrellas  spreading  themselves 
impartially  over  roses  and  cabbages.  Trav- 
ersing the  wide,  open  space,  we  passed 
through  a  well-preserved  Norman  gateway 
and  were  in  the  Cathedral  close,  where  we 
caught  our  first  view  of  the  magnificent 
fa$ade  with  its  flanking  towers,  its  pointed 
gables,  and  the  three  majestic  recessed 
arches  that  are  the  despair  of  painter,  poet, 
and  archaeologist. 

This  fagade  is  considered  open  to  criti- 
cism. It  has  been  said  that  the  build- 
ing within  does  not  keep  the  promise 
of  this  glorious  front ;  that  the  architect, 
whose  very  name  is  forgotten,  made  tech- 
nical blunders ;  in  short,  that  he  did  not 
make  the  west  front  of  Peterborough  Ca- 


IO4  A   GLORIOUS    TRIO 

thedral  absolutely  perfect.  Let  us  hope  he 
sleeps  well  in  his  unknown  grave,  undis- 
turbed by  this  knowledge.  At  the  least, 
it  may  be  said  that  he  created  something 
that  is  uniquely  imposing  and  superlatively 
beautiful. 

Standing  at  the  western  gate  of  the  Ab- 
bey, then,  —  the  gate  built  by  Abbot  Bene- 
dict, —  we  paused  to  look  about  us.  The 
Abbey  ?  Yes,  for  Peterborough  was  origi- 
nally one  of  the  chief  Benedictine  monas- 
teries in  England.  As  a  cathedral  it  dates 
back  to  the  time  of  the  dissolution  of  the 
monasteries  by  Henry  VIII.  John  Cham- 
bers being  abbot  then,  he  prostrated  him- 
self at  the  feet  of  Henry,  and  acknowledged 
king  instead  of  pope  as  supreme  head  of 
the  Church.  Gurton,  the  historian,  says 
as  to  this  submission,  "The  good  Abbot 
liked  to  sleep  in  a  whole  skin,  and  wished 
to  die  in  his  nest  where  he  had  lived  so 
long."  Yet  a  nobler  motive  may  have 
swayed  him,  —  the  strong  desire  to  save 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  105 

from  destruction  the  altars  at  which  he 
had  ministered.  Be  this  as  it  may,  in  1541 
Abbot  John  Chambers  became  first  Bishop 
of  Peterborough,  and  as  good  a  Protestant 
as  the  best  of  them. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  beautiful  west  gate- 
way of  "Peterborough  the  Proud,"  where, 
in  the  days  of  the  old  Abbey,  king  and 
courtier,  prince  and  peasant,  were  re- 
quired to  put  their  shoes  from  off  their 
feet  before  entering  the  holy  precincts. 
As  we  stand  here,  before  us  is  the  west 
front  of  the  Cathedral,  glorious  in  the 
morning  sunshine,  with  every  turret,  tower, 
and  pinnacle  standing  out  in  bold  relief 
against  a  clear  blue  sky.  The  deep,  re- 
cessed arches  are  in  shadow,  darkly  majes- 
tic as  the  entrance  into  Hades.  To  the 
north  of  it  is  another  old  gateway,  arched 
and  battlemented,  which  leads  to  the  dean- 
ery, and  to  the  quiet  sanctuary  of  the  grave- 
yard lying  close  in  the  shadow  of  the  church. 
To  the  south — Peterborough  being  rich  in 


Io6  A   GLORIOUS   TRIO 

gateways  —  is  still  another ;  a  fine  bit  of 
early  English,  with  groined  roof  and  clus- 
tered shafts.  This  is  the  entrance  to  the 
Bishop's  Palace.  On  our  left  is  an  old 
building  that  was  once  the  chancel  of  the 
costly  chapel  consecrated  to  St.  Thomas  a 
Becket.  Secularized  and  grown  worldly 
in  its  mouldy  old  age,  it  is  now  a  museum 
of  natural  history. 

A  young  girl  stood  in  the  doorway. 
Would  the  ladies  like  to  walk  in  and  see 
the  exhibition?  It  was  under  the  direct 
patronage  of  the  Queen,  and  Her  Majesty 
was  indeed  one  of  the  chief  contributors. 

Wondering  whether  we  were  to  see  her- 
bariums or  impaled  butterflies,  Kensington 
embroidery  or  drawn-work,  we  paid  our 
shilling  and  went  in,  to  find  that  the  "ex- 
hibition" was  one  of  relics, — relics  of 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  —  and  we  counted 
ourselves  especially  fortunate  in  thus  stum- 
bling upon  it  unawares.  Strange  are  the 
reverses  of  time.  There  were  few  in  Eng- 


A   GLORIOUS   TRIO  107 

land  who  sorrowed  at  her  death-sentence, 
and  fewer  still  who  gainsaid  it.  Yet  here, 
after  the  lapse  of  just  three  centuries,  sacred 
relics  of  the  "martyred  queen"  were  gath- 
ered from  all  quarters  of  the  kingdom,  and 
the  chapel  of  St.  Thomas  was  again  a  shrine. 
Fotheringay  Castle,  the  scene  of  her  last 
imprisonment  and  of  her  execution,  was 
eleven  miles  from  Peterborough.  The 
strong  fortress  is  now  not  even  a  ruin. 
Not  one  stone  is  left  upon  another.  But 
here  was  a  model,  or  rather  a  map  .in 
clay ;  and  one  could  easily  rebuild  the 
stately  walls  and  count  the  bulwarks 
thereof.  Here  was  the  veil  of  light  gauze 
tissue,  with  a  legend  wrought  in  gold 

thread  upon  the  border,  which  Jane  Ken- 

• 
nedy  took  from   Mary's  head    when  her 

eyes  were  bandaged.  Here  was  the  slen- 
der gold  chain  and  crucifix  which  the  un- 
fortunate queen  removed  from  her  own 
neck  and  threw  round  that  of  one  of  her 
ladies  in  waiting.  Here  was  the  rosary  she 


IO8  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

wore  that  day  at  her  girdle,  and  the  cross 
she  held  in  her  hand  when  dying.  Here 
was  the  agate  tankard,  or  caudle  cup,  with 
hinged  cover  and  silver  gilt  mountings, 
from  which  she  drank  the  night  before  her 
execution  and  then  gave  to  Sir  James  Bal- 
four.  It  is  one  of  the  heirlooms  of  the 
family  of  Bruce  of  Kennet.  Here  was  a 
curious  "jewel,"  said  to  have  been  given 
to  Mary  by  the  Dauphin  before  their  mar- 
riage, —  a  gold  bar  on  which  is  a  small  fig- 
ure of  a  boy  catching  a  mouse.  The  trinket 
is  set  with  diamonds  and  rubies,  and  has  a 
large  pearl  as  a  pendant.  Here  were  many 
rings  and  a  jewelled  stomacher;  a  silver- 
gilt  hand-bell  covered  with  curious  devices, 
and  several  watches  with  her  monogram. 
And  here,  O  shade  of  Walter  *Scott !  here 
was  the  very  key  that  unlocked  the  water- 
gate  at  Loch  Leven,  —  the  key  that  Ronald 
Graeme  stole  from  Lady  Douglas. 

The  portraits  were   many,  and  no  two 
resembled  each  other  very  closely.     They 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  lOQ 

varied  as  much  as  opinions  do  with  regard 
to  Mary  Stuart.  There  were  some  exqui- 
site ivory  miniatures,  showing  a  young,  un- 
shadowed face,  perfect  in  its  loveliness.  In 
a  glass  case  were  laces  she  had  worn,  and 
embroideries  wrought  during  her  long  cap- 
tivity. In  connection  with  each  article 
was  its  genealogy,  so  to  speak,  given  so 
clearly  that  its  genuineness  could  not  be 
disputed. 

One  of  the  articles  sent  by  Victoria  was 
an  ebony  cabinet  inlaid  with  ivory,  and 
decorated  with  tortoise  shell  and  silver. 
Another  was  a  box  with  a  glass  cover,  on 
the  satin  lining  of  which  a  long,  heavy  tress 
of  golden-brown  hair  lay  coiled.  There 
were  prayer-books  and  missals ;  and,  sad- 
dest and  most  painfully  suggestive  of  all, 
here  was  the  chair  in  which  she  sat  that 
February  morning  in  1587,  and  from  which 
she  rose  when,  assisted  by  her  faithful 
Melvin,  she  groped  her  way  blindly  to 
the  block.  It  brought  that  far-away  scene 


110  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

very  near;  and  remembering  the  "little 
shag  dog"  that  "hid  itself  under  her 
royal  robes"  as  she  sat  in  this  old  chair, 
and  with  almost  human  moans  lavished 
caresses  upon  her  body  when  all  was  over, 
I  blessed  the  tiny  creature  for  its  faith- 
ful love.  Its  fidelity  touched  even  the 
stern  men  around  her,  and  was  mentioned 
in  the  official  account  transmitted  to  my 
Lord  of  Burleigh. 

When  we  came  out  of  what  seemed  like 
a  charnel  house,  the  open  air  and  the  joyous 
summer  day  were  welcome.  We  crossed 
the  green  close,  went  through  Abbot  Kir- 
ton's  gateway  into  the  churchyard,  and 
there  found  Old  Mortality  himself  cleaning 
a  gravestone. 

Beyond  this  point,  at  the  northeast, 
the  best  general  view  of  the  Cathedral  is 
gained  ;  for  here  the  eye  takes  in  the  whole 
majestic  sweep  from  the  pinnacles  and 
turrets  flanking  the  arches  of  the  fa£ade, 
the  bell-tower  of  the  northwestern  tran- 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  III 

sept,  the  Norman  buttresses  of  the  nave, 
the  great  eastern  transept  with  its  Norman 
windows,  filled  in  now  with  Perpendicular 
tracery,  and  so  on  to  the  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful "New  Building"  (so-called,  though 
it  existed  when  America  was  a  terra  in- 
cognita), with  its  rich  parapet  crowned  with 
statues,  and  the  round-arched  Norman  apse 
rising  in  double  tiers  above  it.  As  we 
pass  round  the  east  end  to  the  south,  we  i 
see  the  ruins  of  the  old  monastic  build-  [ 
ings, — the  infirmary  with  its  lines  of  perfect  ' 
arches,  the  refectory,  the  lavatories,  the 
cloisters,  the  columns  and  foliated  capitals, 
the  windows  and  doorways  —  all  eloquent 
in  their  picturesque  decay.  Old  Mortality, 
who  followed  us,  was  garrulous,  but  we 
forgave  him  when  he  took  us  into  the 
house  of  one  of  the  canons.  It  was  for- 
merly the  chapel  of  St.  Lawrence,  the  very 
chancel  itself.  As  we  passed  through  the 
silent  rooms  (for  the  family  was  absent), 
we  wondered  if  life  went  on  in  that  once 


112  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

sacred  atmosphere  just  as  elsewhere,  with 
its  petty  needs  and  petty  details,  its  joys 
and  its  heartbreaks. 

When  we  got  round  to  the  west  again, 
we  went  in  beneath  the  frowning,  shadowy 
arches,  to  meet  our  first  disappointment. 
The  long,  narrow  nave,  with  its  flat  wooden 
roof,  sloping  slightly  to  the  supporting 
columns,  and  fantastically  painted  in  a 
strange  lozenge-shaped  pattern,  was  before 
us ;  but  everything  beyond  it  was  cut  off 
by  a  rough  board  partition.  Peterborough 
was  undergoing  the  process  of  restoration. 
Came  to  us  the  verger,  however ;  and,  after 
a  little  persuasion,  he  led  us  in  behind  the 
scenes,  where  we  found  that  an  old  cathe- 
dral in  undress  was  quite  as  interesting  as 
under  other  conditions.  One  was  willing  to 
miss  much  for  the  sake  of  seeing  the  very 
beginnings  of  things.  It  was  chaos  come 
again,  but  chaos  with  a  purpose. 

Picking  our  way  over  piles  of  debris  and 
heaps  of  rubbish,  we  looked  down  where 


A   GLORIOUS    TRIO  113 

the  heavy  stone  flagging  of  the  great  tran- 
sept had  been  lifted  with  infinite  toil,  into 
a  just-discovered  subterranean  passage 
leading  to  a  treasure  house  of  Peter- 
borough monks  in  the  seventh  century. 
We  touched  the  very  stones  and  mortar 
of  the  old  monastery  of  Medeshamstede, 
where  Paeda  and  Oswi,  in  the  words  of  the 
old  Saxon  chronicle,  "  began  the  ground 
wall,  and  wrought  thereon." 

Imbedded  in  coarse,  crumbling  sand, 
which  seemed  half  sea-shells,  we  saw  a 
great  stone  coffin  in  process  of  resurrection. 
It  had  lain  there,  unseen  of  human  eye, 
for  eleven  centuries;  and  now  the  tomb 
was  opened,  not  by  the  voice  of  God 
or  the  trump  of  Gabriel,  but  by  blows 
of  hammer  and  pickaxe  in  the  hands  of 
stalwart  workmen  of  alien  race  and  creed. 
Hours  passed  unheeded  as  we  lingered 
there,  in  dust  and  turmoil,  watching  the 
process  of  "restoration"  and  repair,  —  the 
scraping  of  columns,  the  removal  of  vandal 


114  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

paint  and  whitewash,  and  the  restoring 
of  that  which  was  lost. 

4 *  It  is  more  interesting  even  than  spring 
house-cleaning  in  New  England,  —  don't 
you  think  so?"  said  Altera,  brushing  the 
white  dust  from  the  sleeve  of  her  jacket. 
And  as  I  drew  my  skirts  more  closely 
about  me,  I  truthfully  answered,  "Yes!" 

Such  was  the  disorder  reigning  in  War- 
saw, that  we  had  only  a  glimpse  of  the 
beautiful  "  New  Building,"  with  its  Perpen- 
dicular windows  and  the  lovely  fan  tracery 
of  the  roof.  The  effect  is  singularly  like 
that  of  King's  College  Chapel  at  Cambridge, 
which  was  built  about  the  same  time,  and 
possibly  by  the  same  architect. 

Peterborough  is  less  rich  in  famous 
tombs  than  some  of  its  sister  cathedrals. 
But  here  were  buried  Katharine  of  Aragon 
and  Mary  of  Scotland.  The  dust  of  the 
former  still  lies  in  the  north  choir  aisle 
under  a  slab  of  blue  stone.  Time  is  fast 
obliterating  the  simple  inscription,  "Queen 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  115 

Catharine,  A.D.  1536."  Yet,  if  the  legend 
be  true,  the  whole  Cathedral  is  her  monu- 
ment. The  story  goes  that  when  Henry 
was  implored  to  raise  a  stone,  or  a  statue, 
to  her  memory,  he  answered:  "I  will  give 
her  the  finest  monument  in  all  England  ;  " 
and  that  for  her  sake  Peterborough  sur- 
vived the  destruction  of  the  monasteries. 
That  this  is  somewhat  apocryphal  goes 
without  saying.  Yet  Shakespeare  may 
have  heard  it  when  he  puts  that  last 
pathetic  speech  on  record  :  — 

"Embalm  me, 
Then  lay  me  forth ;  although  un queened,  yet 

still 
A  queen,  and  daughter  to  a  King  inter  me." 

In  the  south  choir  aisle  a  marble  slab 
marks  the  spot  where 'Mary  Stuart  lay 
for  twenty-five  years.  She  was  beheaded 
February  8,  but  remained  unburied  till 
July  30.  Few  events  in  history  are  more 
thrilling  in  their  suggestiveness :  the  mid- 


Il6  A    GLORIOUS  TRIO 

night  gathering  of  friends  and  retainers, 
the  torch-light  procession  winding  its  slow 
way  from  Fotheringay  to  Peterborough, 
the  superb  coffin  lifted  high,  the  lofty 
chariot  covered  with  black  cloth,  preceded 
by  the  Garter  King-at>Arms  and  other  her- 
alds, the  guard  of  mounted  horsemen,  the 
black-robed  mutes,  the  nodding  plumes, 
the  trailing  banners,  and  all  the  solemn 
pomp  and  stately  ceremonial  of  that  far 
day.  Out  from  windows  and  doorways 
peered  the  startled  faces  of  rustics,  awak- 
ened from  their  sleep  by  the  tread  of 
many  feet,  albeit  there  was  neither  sound 
of  bugle  or  blare  of  trumpet. 

At  the  Cathedral  gate  the  procession 
was  received  by  Bishop  Rowland,  Dean 
Fletcher,  and  their  attendant  priests.  The 
coffin  was  borne  silently  across  the  close, 
through  the  wide  arches,  and  up  the  nave, 
to  the  vault  made  ready  in  the  choir.  On 
the  following  day  imposing  funeral  rites 
were  observed,  the  Countess  of  Bedford 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  117 

appearing  as  Queen  Elizabeth's  represen- 
tative in  the  r61e  of  chief  mourner  ! 

A  lofty  "herse"  hung  with  black  velvet 
was  raised  over  the  grave,  and  remained 
there  till,  James  I.  being  King,  all  that 
was  left  of  Mary  Stuart  was  removed  to 
Westminster  Abbey. 

As  we  passed  out  of  the  great  west 
door,  we  paused  to  look  again  at  the 
portrait  of  "Old  Scarlet,"  the  sexton. 
Perhaps  it  looks  slightly  out  of  place,  — 
the  quaint,  homely  figure  in  scarlet  coat 
and  trunk  hose,  with  a  bunch  of  keys 
in  one  hand  and  a  spade  in  the  other. 
But  the  inscription  under  it  tells  the  old 
man's  story  and  explains  his  presence 
here.  It  does  not  fall  to  the  lot  of  every 
sexton  to  "inter  two  queens." 


The  "fen  country"  was  once  a  chain 
of  lakes  and  water-courses,  studded  with 
islands.  As  the  "resonant  steam  eagles" 


Il8  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

bore  us  towards  the  ancient  town  of  Ely, 
we  seemed  to  hear  the  dip  of  oars,  the  sound 
of  the  wind  among  the  reeds,  the  chiming 
of  sweet-toned  bells,  and  the  singing  of  the 
monks.  The  pulsing  and  throbbing  of  the 
cars  seemed  set  to  music,  and  to  repeat  over 
and  over  the  song  of  King  Canute. 

"  Sweetly  sang  the  monks  at  Ely. 

Kniit,  the  king  row'd  nigh ; 
'  Listen  how  the  winds  be  bringing 
From  yon  church  a  holy  singing  ! 
Row,  men,  nearer  by  ! ' 

"  Loudly  sang  the  monks  at  Ely 

On  that  Thursday  morn ; 
'Twas  the  feast  of  God  ascended  — 
Of  the  wondrous  drama  ended ; 
God  for  sinners  born! 

"  Sweetly  sang  the  monks  at  Ely. 

Kniit,  the  king  row'd  nigh ; 
'  Listen  to  the  angels  bringing 
Holy  thoughts  that  seem  like  singing ; 
Row,  men,  nearer  by ! ' " 

Canute,  however,  would  hardly  recognize 
his  song  in  this  later  version,  which  is  yet 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  IIQ 

an  old  one.    Here  is  one  verse  of  another, 
still  older. 

"  Merie  sungen  the  Muneches  hinnen  Ely, 
Tha  Guilt  chiug  rew  ther  by. 
Rowe  ye  cnites  noer  the  lant, 
And  here  we  thes  Muneches  saeng." 

But  as  the  men  obeyed,  and  rowed  "yet 
nearer"  on  that  fair  Thursday  morn,  their 
eyes  did  not  rest  on  a  single  stone  of  the 
majestic  structure  we  see  to-day.  The 
Saxon  queen,  Etheldreda,  founded  a  mon- 
astery at  Ely  in  673,  and,  withdrawing 
from  court,  became  its  Abbess.  It  flour- 
ished for  two  hundred  years,  was  burned 
by  the  Danes,  was  rebuilt  under  the  Bene- 
dictine rule  in  970,  became  a  "camp  of 
refuge"  and  the  last  stronghold  of  the 
Saxons,  and  finally  surrendered  to  William 
the  Conqueror,  in  1071.  About  ten  years 
after,  the  foundations  of  the  present  Cathe- 
dral were  laid  by  Simeon,  the  first  Norman 
Abbot.  But  Etheldreda  has  always  been 
the  patron  saint  of  Ely.  As  soon  as 


120  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

Simeon's  church  was  far  enough  advanced, 
her  remains  were  translated  from  the 
graveyard  to  a  stately  shrine  behind  the 
high  altar. 

"Did  you  never  tire  of  cathedrals,  going 
thus  from  one  to  another?  Was  it  not 
rather  monotonous  ?  "  —  are  questions  that 
may  reasonably  be  asked  ;  as,  indeed,  they 
have  been  asked  more  than  once. 

As  well  might  one  tire  of  sunset,  or 
moonshine  ;  of  the  splendour  of  winter  star- 
light, of  the  leaping  of  waters,  or  of  the 
faces  of  friends.  Cathedrals  are  alike  and 
yet  unlike ;  and  the  likeness  is  as  great  a 
charm  as  the  unlikeness.  To  know  that 
the  general  features  are  the  same,  that 
under  all  the  diversity  some  things  are 
certain  and  uniform,  is  the  rock  that  one 
learns  to  rest  upon,  as  on  the  procession 
of  the  seasons,  or  the  fact  that  day  follows 
day.  "Monotonous?"  As  we  had  gazed 
spell-bound  upon  the  mighty  arches  of 
Peterborough,  so  now  we  stood  in  awe- 


A   GLORIOUS    TRIO  121 

struck  silence  beneath  the  enormous  towers 
of  Ely,  and  in  the  shadow  of  its  huge 
buttresses. 

Tower  on  tower,  pinnacle  on  pinnacle, 
turret  on  turret, — all  soaring  together  in 
majestic  harmony,  piercing  the  far  blue 
heavens,  yet  studded  with  bas-reliefs  and 
crowned  with  statues.  It  was  like  the 
exuberance  of  nature,  —  as  if  the  vast  pile 
had  grown  from  pure  delight  of  growing, 
with  no  help  from  human  hands.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  summer  day  that  in 
this  sense  of  exuberant  life,  of  conscious, 
vital  power,  of  spontaneity,  of  freedom, 
lay  the  secret  of  Ely's  chief  glory  when 
considered  from  an  artistic  or  aesthetic 
standpoint.  The  great  west  tower  is  abso- 
lutely unique.  Castellated,  battlemented, 
it  is,  perhaps,  all  the  more  imposing  be- 
cause it  stands  alone,  flanked  by  its 
turreted  southern  wing  —  the  southwest 
transept.  The  comparatively  low,  broad 
octagon  contrasts  powerfully,  yet  harmo- 


122  A    GLORIOUS   TRIO 

niously,  with  the  superb  height  of  the 
solitary  tower. 

In  such  a  presence  it  seems  obtrusive, 
almost  sacrilegious,  to  use  the  nomencla- 
ture of  the  schools,  and  prate  about  styles 
and  periods  of  architecture.  Why  must 
we  always  tear  the  petals  from  the  rose 
to  see  how  it  is  made  ?  Yet  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  the  pleasure  of  a  cathedral 
pilgrimage  is  greatly  enhanced  by  (at  least) 
enough  knowledge  of  those  "periods"  to 
enable  one  to  look  understandingly ;  and 
no  cathedral  in  England  affords  better 
opportunities  for  acquiring  that  knowledge 
than  does  Ely.  Within  its  walls  every 
step  in  the  history  of  church  architecture, 
from  the  Conquest  to  the  Reformation, 
can  be  studied.  From  Early  Xorman  to 
Late  Perpendicular,  through  all  the  grada- 
tions of  Transitional,  Early  English,  and 
Decorated,  —  all  are  here. 

The  church  is  entered  through  the  Gali- 
lee Porch.  This  was  the  first  time  we  had 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  123 

seen  a  "Galilee,"  so  called,  though  we  found 
one  afterwards  at  Lincoln,  and  another  at 
Durham.  Of  course  the  question  at  once 
arose,  why  "  Galilee  "  ? 

Millers  answers  it  thus:  "As  Galilee, 
bordering  on  the  Gentiles,  was  the  part  of 
the  Holy  Land  most  remote  from  Jerusa- 
lem, so  was  this  part  of  the  building  most 
remote  from  the  sanctuary." 

Rather  far-fetched,  but,  on  the  whole, 
less  so  than  any  other  explanation  given 
us  there,  or  elsewhere. 

But  whatever  one  chooses  to  call  it,  this 
great,  two-storied  porch,  with  its  fine  arch 
of  entrance  divided  by  a  central  group  of 
clustered  shafts,  its  triple  lancet  windows, 
its  arcades,  its  niches  for  statues,  its  pillars 
of  Devonshire  marble  with  Purbeck  plinths 
and  capitals,  is,  according  to  Professor 
Parker,  "one  of  the  finest  porches  in  the 
world."  Passing  through  this  imposing 
vestibule,  we  are  beneath  the  great  west- 
ern tower,  where  one  pauses  involuntarily. 


124  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

Above  is  the  decorated  ceiling  of  the  tower 
itself ;  to  the  right,  the  beautiful  southwest 
transept,  with  the  apsidal  chapel  of  St. 
Catharine,  where  eight  different  periods  of 
Norman  work  can  be  distinctly  traced ;  in 
front  of  us  stretches  the  long  vista  of  tho 
nave,  with  its  twelve  splendid  bays,  its 
springing  vaulting  shafts,  and  its  richly 
coloured  roof,  terminating  in  the  noble 
octagon  that  is  Ely's  chief  glory.  Beyond 
is  the  oaken  choir  screen,  with  its  gates  of 
brass,  through  and  over  which  the  delighted 
eye  takes  in  the  seven  bays  of  the  choir  with 
all  its  wealth  of  decoration,  the  reredos  mag- 
nificent beyond  description  with  alabaster, 
mosaics,  jewels,  and  sculptured  panels; 
and  still  farther  on,  the  retro-choir,  with 
its  double  tiers  of  long,  lancet  windows 
flooding  the  whole  with  marvellous  light 
and  splendour. 

But  all  the  time,  whether  one  seems  to 
be  looking  north,  south,  east,  or  west,  the 
eye  turns  again  and  again  to  the  great  west 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  125 

transept  and  the  octagon,  impatient  of  de- 
lay. It  may  well  be  questioned  if,  in  the 
whole  range  of  Gothic  architecture,  any- 
thing more  strikingly  beautiful  can  be 
found  than  the  octagon  and  choir  of  Ely 
as  seen  from  the  angle  of  the  nave  aisles,  — 
whether  one  looks  up  into  the  vast  height 
of  the  lantern  with  its  sculptured  angels,  or 
across  the  bewildering  maze  of  piers,  shafts, 
•windows,  and  roofs,  all  glowing  with  col- 
our, and  wrought  with  tracery  as  delicate  as 
frostwork. 

Any  attempt  at  describing  all  this  is 
utterly  futile ;  yet  bare  mention  must 
be  made  of  the  two  famous  doorways, — 
the  Prior's  Door  and  the  Monk's  Door ;  the 
chapels  of  Bishops  Alcock  and  West;  the 
remains  of  the  monastic  buildings;  Prior 
Crawden's  chapel  (the  most  curious  little 
place  imaginable,  yet  beautiful  exceed- 
ingly); and,  most  touching  and  suggestive 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  splendour,  a  rude 
Saxon  cross  which  is  four  hundred  years 


126  A   GLORIOUS   TRIO 

older  than  anything  else  in  or  about  the 
building.  It  stands  near  the  Prior's  Door- 
way, in  the  south  aisle  of  the  nave,  in 
memory  of  Ovinus,  the  steward  of  Ethel- 
dreda.  The  inscription  has  been  thus 
translated,  — 

"  Grant,  O  God,  to  Ovin,  thy  light  and  rest. 
Amen." 


The  roads  between  Lincoln,  Peterbor- 
ough, and  Ely  form  a  very  irregular  tri- 
angle;  Lincoln  being  about  forty  miles 
from  Peterborough,  and  Peterborough 
about  one-third  that  distance  from  Ely. 
Lincoln  is  in  Lincolnshire,  Peterborough 
on  the  southern  border  of  Northampton- 
shire, and  Ely  in  Cambridgeshire.  Yet  all 
three  might  be  within  the  limits  of  one 
small  county  in  Massachusetts.  A  mind 
accustomed  to  the  vast  spaces  of  our  own 
country  loses  all  sense  of  distance  on  the 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  1 27 

other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  To  the  child 
studying  history  or  geography,  England 
and  France  seem  far  apart.  But  in  point 
of  fact  when  one  crosses  the  Channel,  the 
white  cliffs  of  Albion  have  not  faded  out 
of  sight  before  the  low  shores  of  France 
hang  like  a  faint  cloud  in  the  distance.  So, 
too,  one  has  hardly  lost  sight  of  the  mighty 
towers  of  one  of  these  three  great  cathe- 
drals, before  those  of  another  loom  up 
before  his  wondering  eyes. 

The  existing  Cathedral  of  Peterborough 
— that  which  we  see  to-day  —  was  begun 
in  1140  ;  Ely  in  1083  ;  and  Lincoln  in  1075. 
Always  the  mind  goes  back  to  the  same 
question,  —  How  were  they  built  ?  What 
manner  of  men  were  these  old  monks  who 
dared  so  magnificently?  Did  they  count 
the  cost  before  they  began?  Did  they 
build  wiser  than  they  knew?  Or  did  they 
see,  with  far-reaching  vision,  the  end  from 
the  beginning? 

It  is  pleasant  to  dream  of  them,  sitting  in 


128  A   GLORIOUS    TRIO 

dim  chantries  or  vaulted  chapter-house,  — 
groups  of  tonsured,  black-robed  men,  with 
maps,  charts,  and  plans  before  them,  gravely 
discussing  ways  and  means,  comparing 
notes,  considering  the  height  of  this  tower, 
the  depth  of  that  triforium,  the  spring  of 
this  arch,  the  vast  stretch  of  yonder  nave, 
and  all  with  a  regard  for  minuteness  of  fin- 
ish and  detail  in  each  "  remote  and  unseen 
part"  of  which  this  day  and  generation 
knows  nothing.  One  is  sometimes  tempted 
to  ask  if  the  one  work  of  the  world  from 
the  eighth  to  the  fifteenth  centuries  was 
not  the  building  of  cathedrals  ?  Certainly 
its  work  ran  in  narrower  channels  in  those 
days.  Earth  was  smaller,  and  its  interests 
were  less  varied.  The  learning,  the  charity, 
the  hospitality,  of  that  narrower  world  cen- 
tred in  cloister  and  chapter-house. 

Yet  it  does  not  do  to  assume  that  they 
held  it  all.  During  that  same  period  how 
the  stately  castles  lifted  their  strong  turrets 
on  every  hill!  Think  of  the  pictures  that 


A   GLORIOUS   TRIO  129 

were  painted,  the  statues  that  were  carved, 
the  tapestry  that  grew  under  busy  fingers, 
the  desolating  wars  that  were  yet  so  full  of 
splendid  pomp  and  pageantry.  It  will  not 
do  to  say  that  the  world  in  mediaeval  ages 
did  nothing  but  build  cathedrals  ;  and  we 
must  go  back  to  the  old  question,  —  How 
were  they  built  ?  Whence  came  the 
money?  When  we  think  of  the  pother 
made  over  the  building  of  one  small  church 
in  our  day,  of  the  expedients  for  raising 
the  needful  funds,  of  the  subscription  pa- 
pers, the  fairs,  and  the  sewing  societies, 
and  then  behold  these  three  magnificent 
cathedrals  within  a  radius  of  a  few  square 
miles,  we  may  well  repeat,  Whence  came 
the  money?  Human  needs  were  less, 
and  were  more  easily  satisfied  in  those' 
remote  epochs  ;  human  labour  was  cheaper ; 
human  life  was  held  hi  less  repute.  But 
yet—! 

We  reached  Lincoln  on  a  certain  Satur- 
day afternoon,  and  were  glad  to  take  our 


I3O  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

ease  in  our  inn,  write  our  letters,  and  talk 
over  our  adventures.  It  was  a  far  cry  to 
the  Cathedral,  more's  the  pity  ;  for  we  had 
not  chosen  our  hotel  wisely.  In  order  to 
study  any  one  of  these  great  minsters  one 
should  be  able  to  run  in  and  out  informally 
as  it  were ;  to  see  it  at  all  hours,  by  moon- 
light and  starlight,  and  in  the  early  morn- 
ing; and  it  goes  without  saying  that  the 
nearer  one's  lodgings  are  the  better  it  is. 
Sunday  found  us  in  the  same  lazy  mood. 
There  was  a  little  church  across  the  way, 
and  thither  we  went  for  the  late  afternoon 
service. 

The  next  morning  was  August  1,  "  Bank- 
ers' Holiday."  "Not  a  hap'orth  o'  busi- 
ness done  in  all  England  to-day,  mum," 
the  smiling  waiter  announced  as  he  hov- 
ered beneficently  about  the  breakfast-table. 
"  A  great  'oliday,  mum." 

Notwithstanding  which  fact,  or  perhaps 
by  reason  of  it,  it  proved  to  be  a  good  day 
for  seeing  Lincoln  Cathedral. 


A   GLORIOUS   TRIO  13! 

Peterborough  stands  on  low  ground, 
and  makes  but  an  unimportant  feature  in 
the  landscape.  Ely  stands  on  what  the 
guide-books  are  pleased  to  call  a  "slight 
eminence,"  so  slight,  indeed,  as  to  be 
imperceptible  to  the  ordinary  observer. 
But  Lincoln  on  its  "sovereign  hill"  is 
like  the  city  that  cannot  be  hid.  For 
grandeur  of  situation  it  yields  the  palm  to 
Durham  alone.  It  can  be  seen  from  all 
points,  dominating  the  whole  landscape ; 
and  as  one  climbs  the  steep  "New  Road," 
so  called,  its  stately  towers  are  in  full  view 
long  before  they  are  reached. 

We  will  approach  it,  however,  by  the 
more  direct  "High  Street";  and  leaving 
our  carriage  at  the  Exchequer  Gate, — a 
lofty,  three-storied  gate-house,  which  was 
once  a  part  of  the  fortifications  of  the  city,  — 
enter  the  Minster  Yard. 

The  Cathedral  of  Lincoln  does  not,  like 
most  of  its  compeers,  sit  in  its  own  green 
close,  serene  and  still  in  a  lovely,  isolated 


132  A   GLORIOUS    TRIO 

repose.  Busy  streets  encompass  it,  lowlier 
roofs  cluster  about  it.  A  narrow  border 
of  turf  runs  along  the  south  side,  and  to 
the  north  and  east  there  is  a  fair  stretch 
of  greensward.  But  it  has  nothing  to 
compare  with  the  exquisite  setting  of 
Wells,  Winchester,  and  Salisbury,  with 
their  long  reaches  of  emerald  turf  and  the 
stately  grandeur  of  their  ancient  trees. 

The  sunshine  is  very  bright  this  August 
morning.  Clear  and  penetrating  it  dis- 
penses with  all  veiling  mists,  all  softening 
shadows ;  and  falling  broadly,  strongly, 
upon  the  lofty  towers  and  soaring  tur- 
rets, it  cries  to  the  beholder,  "Here  are 
no  shams,  no  disguises.  Come  and  look !  " 

Three  young  women  who  have  placed 
their  easels  before  the  Exchequer  Gate, 
obey  the  summons  and  look  with  all  their 
might.  An  irreverent  youth  with  a  red 
Baedeker  under  his  arm,  strolls  carelessly 
about,  eating  peanuts.  Two  or  three  men 
in  clerical,  or  semi-clerical  garb,  gaze  up 


A   GLORIOUS   TRIO  133 

at  the  five  great  arches  of  the  west  front. 
As  we  follow  their  example,  a  bell  tolls 
softly  and  out  from  the  open  portal  pours 
the  rolling  thunder  of  the  organ.  The  ap- 
peal is  irresistible,  and  we  "enter in,"  glad 
to  be  just  in  time  for  the  morning  service. 

Having  said  our  prayers,  we  returned  to 
the  west  front  and  passed  out  from  the 
cool  dampness  of  the  nave  into  the  clear, 
searching  sunlight  again.  If  there  be  any 
cathedral  in  England  that  repays  closest 
study,  it  is  this  of  Lincoln.  The  facade 
with  its  five  great  recessed  arches  dif- 
fering in  height,  its  vast  spaces,  its  flank- 
ing turrets,  and  its  tier  upon  tier  of  arcades 
completely  covering  the  huge  front,  is  per- 
haps imposing  and  impressive,  rather  than 
beautiful.  But  when  Eemegius,  the  first 
Norman  bishop,  began  to  build  on  this  spot 
"a  strong,  fair  church"  in  honour  of  the 
Virgin,  did  he  dream  to  what  proportions 
it  would  grow,  and  how  strong  and  fair  it 
would  at  length  become?  Very  little  of 


134  A   GLORIOUS    TRIO 

his  actual  work  remains  to-day  ;  only  the 
severely  stern  arches  of  his  comparatively 
small  fagade,  and  the  beginnings,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  western  towers.  What  would 
one  not  give  if,  reimbodied,  he  could 
wander  with  us  about  the  vast  pile  to-day, 
and  see  to  what  incomparable  and  majestic 
loveliness  his  thought  has  grown  !  For 
whether  or  no  Lincoln  bears  off  the  palm 
for  interior  beauty,  it  is  certain  that  its 
exterior  is  unsurpassed  in  grandeur,  infinite 
variety  and  picturesqueness,  and  wonderful 
perfection  of  detail. 

It  is  undoubtedly  true,  that  as  the  trav- 
eller yields  to  the  magic  influence  of  one 
after  another  of  these  marvellous  creations, 
he  is  apt  to  feel  as  if  the  latest  love  was 
the  best  and  fairest.  As  his  spirit  bows 
to  its  sway,  each  in  its  turn  seems  to  him 
unspeakably  grand  and  beautiful.  Yet  I 
cannot  be  mistaken  in  thinking  that  as 
one  turns  to  the  right,  wanders  loiteringly 
round  the  southwest  tower,  and  then  goes 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  135 

slowly  on  down  the  whole  stretch  of  the 
Cathedral,  marking  the  graceful  flying  but- 
tresses of  the  long,  receding  nave,  passing 
the  great  south  transept  with  its  many- 
pinnacled  Galilee  porch  projecting  on  the 
west,  and  its  circular  window,  "The  Bish- 
op's Eye,"  peering  out  from  beneath  its 
eyebrow  of  a  gable,  —  pauses  for  a  moment 
in  the  deep,  recessed  space  that  separates 
this  from  the  smaller  transept,  and  then 
passes  on  and  on,  beyond  the  vestry  and 
the  little  chapels  with  their  apsidal  curves, 
till  he  reaches  the  great  southeastern  porch 
flanked  by  two  beautiful  chantries,  he  be- 
holds such  unity  in  variety  as  can  scarcely 
be  found  elsewhere.  The  broken  yet  mar- 
vellously graceful  outline,  the  succession  of 
flying  buttresses,  the  pointed  arcades,  the 
exquisite  lancet-windows,  the  turrets  and 
pinnacles  soaring  from  every  imaginable 
point,  the  enormous  central  tower,  the  airy 
canopies,  sometimes  empty,  sometimes  shel- 
tering statues  broken  and  gray  with  age, 


136  A    GLORIOUS   TRIO 

the  gargoyles  startling  in  their  grotesque- 
ness, —  all  these,  and  infinitely  more,  com- 
bine to  form  a  picture  that  the  beholder 
can  never  forget. 

Shall  we  go  on  in  search  of  more  beau- 
ties? We  have  only  to  turn  the  corner, 
and  before  us  is  the  glorious  east  end,  with 
its  deep  buttresses,  its  long  arcades,  and  its 
noble  windows,  and  the  circular  or  rather 
polygonal  chapter-house,  externally,  per- 
haps, the  most  beautiful  in  all  England. 
As  one  looks  around  and  above  him  dur- 
ing this  progress,  every  insensate  stone  suf- 
fers a  sea-change  into  something  rich  and 
strange.  It  blossoms  into  unearthly  beauty, 
or  it  grows  grotesque  beyond  description. 
Every  inch  of  space  is  rich  in  carven  work. 
Even  the  topmost  turrets  of  the  central 
tower  are  enriched  with  fine  traceries,  del- 
icate and  graceful  as  frost  work. 

Is  the  inside  of  Lincoln  Cathedral  worthy 
of  this  magnificent  exterior?  I  cannot  tell; 
partly,  perhaps,  because  the  exterior  took  my 


A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  137 

breath  away  and  left  me  exhausted.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  the  outside  of  this  magnificent 
building  that  made  the  strongest  impression 
upon  two,  at  least,  of  its  reverent  lovers. 

Yet  within,  also,  it  has  its  own  peculiar 
glories,  the  chief  being  the  angel-choir  with 
its  strangely  beautiful  triforium,  with  its 
double  arches,  its  clustered  columns,  its 
graceful  mouldings,  its  trefoils  and  quatre- 
foils,  and  the  hovering  angels  from  which 
it  takes  its  name. 

Lincoln,  like  Peterborough,  has  few  fine 
monuments,  doubtless  owing  to  the  icono- 
clasts of  the  Reformation  and  of  Crom- 
well's time.  One  hears  the  same  story  of 
deliberate,  wanton  mutilation  from  every 
verger  in  England ;  and  it  is  hard  to  be 
reconciled  to  such  wholesale,  barbarous 
destruction.  But  in  the  chancel  is  shown 
a  gray  slab,  the  monument  of  Catharine 
Swineford,  the  wife  of  John  of  Gaunt ;  and 
every  mother  will  pause  at  the  shrine  of 
"  Little  St.  Hugh  "  in  the  south  choir  aisle 


138  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO 

—  a  child  who,  so  the  legend  says,  was 
crucified  by  the  Jews  in  1255. 

The  "Dean's  Eye,"  in  the  north  tran- 
sept, looks  into  that  of  the  "Bishop"  in 
the  south.  Both  are  circular  windows  of 
great  beauty,  exquisite  in  form  and  colour. 
The  builders  of  Lincoln  seem  to  have  had 
great  faith  in  watchful  eyes ;  for  in  addition 
to  these  two,  there  is  a  grotesque  gargoyle 
perched,  I  forget  just  where,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  represent  the  "  Devil  watching 
over  Lincoln." 

Tired  at  last,  yet  happy  beyond  words, 
we  left  the  glorious  minster  and  went  along 
an  old  street,  quaint  to  the  last  degree,  with 
high-peaked,  red-tiled  roofs  not  unlike  those 
of  Nuremberg,  till  we  reached  the  Newport 
Arch — an  old  Roman  gateway  spanning  the 
street.  It  stirs  the  imagination  strangely, 
as,  indeed,  does  the  road  itself.  It  is  rude 
and  massive,  and  its  two  thousand  years  of 
living  have  made  little  impression  on  it, 
save  by  way  of  reducing  its  height.  Full 


-     A    GLORIOUS    TRIO  139 

one-third  of  it  is  buried  under  the  slow  ac- 
cretions of  the  years.  In  its  rough  crevices 
grasses  and  weeds  were  growing,  and  here 
and  there  tufts  of  red  and  yellow  flowers 
glittered  in  the  sunshine. 

Not  far  from  the  gateway  are  the  ruins 
of  one  of  the  numerous  castles  of  William 
the  Conqueror.  Of  one  thing  the  traveller 
may  be  reasonably  sure.  If  there  is  a 
stately,  commanding  site  anywhere  about, 
the  chances  are  that  on  it  he  will  find  a 
moat,  if  nothing  more,  sacred  to  the  mem- 
ory of  the  all-powerful  Norman.  His  monu- 
ments are  omnipresent. 

The  long  day  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and 
it  was  time  for  home  and  rest.  How  soon 
the  wayfarer  learns  to  call  the  four  walls  of 
his  chamber  "home"!  Thither  we  went, 
by  way  of  the  very  steepest  street  to  which 
clustered  houses  ever  dared  to  cling  —  a 
street  so  nearly  perpendicular  that  it 
seemed  madness  to  look  down.  Clinging 
closely  to  each  other,  but  borne  along  by 


140  A    GLORIOUS    TRIO    . 

the  very  force  of  gravitation,  we  gave  but  a 
single  glance  at  the  house  of  Aaron  the  Jew, 
with  its  richly  carved  stone  portal,  as  we 
flew  past  it.  And  all  the  downward  way 
we  saw,  not  the  dirty,  crowded,  poverty- 
stricken  houses,  and  the  swarms  of  curious 
children,  but  the  long  procession  of  the 
early  Bishops  of  Lincoln,  climbing  this 
steep  and  stony  way,  barefooted,  on  the 
day  of  installation.  It  must  have  been 
easy  to  be  humble  for  half  an  hour,  when 
by  lifting  one's  eyes  one  could  behold, 
against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  turrets  and 
towers  of  this  fair  inheritance. 


VI 
RIPON  AND  FOUNTAINS   ABBEY 


else  you  do  or  leave  un- 
done," said  one  whose  advice  was 
well   worth   considering,   "be  sure  to  see 
Conway  Castle,  the  Foundling  Hospital  in 
London,  and  —  Fountains  Abbey." 

We  had  seen  fair  Conway,  and  the  white- 
capped,  scarlet-  waistcoated  children  of  the 
hospital;  and  now  we  were  on  the  way 
from  York  to  the  Abbey,  Ripon  being  our 
objective  point.  It  was  near  sunset  when 
we  reached  the  station  of  the  quaint  little 
country  -town,  which  is  a  city  by  virtue  of 
having  a  cathedral  of  its  own.  For, 
strictly  speaking,  as  has  been  said  before,  a 
"city"  in  England  means  a  cathedral 
town,  and  that  only.  Size  and  importance 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  A  hamlet  is 
141 


142     RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

a  city,  if  cathedral  towers  cast  their  long 
shadows  over  it.  Neither  is  a  church,  how^ 
ever  grand,  a  cathedral  by  virtue  of  its 
dimensions  or  its  architecture.  A  cathe- 
dral may  be  large  or  small,  imposing  or  not 
imposing ;  but  it  must  be  the  heart  of  the 
diocese,  containing  the  official  seat,  or 
throne,  of  the  Bishop. 

We  were  bound  for  the  Unicorn  Inn,  but 
the  omnibus  was  already  departing,  crowded 
with  passengers  from  an  earlier  train.  It 
was  too  pleasant  to  stay  indoors,  and  while 
awaiting  the  return  of  the  'bus,  we  strolled 
up  and  down  the  platform,  enjoying  the 
fresh,  sweet  air,  and  looking  about  us  with 
interested  eyes.  Meanwhile  a  fatherly  old 
porter  had  possessed  himself  of  our  bags 
and  portmanteaux,  and  we  were  not  quite 
sure  what  he  meant  to  do  with  them.  In 
answer  to  a  meek  appeal  from  Altera,  he 
bundled  them  all  into  a  barrow  and  trotted 
off  with  them  complacently,  saying  with  a 
brisk  nod  of  his  gray  head,  — 


RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     143 

"Never  you  fret,  me  leddy.  Just  folly 
me  and  you'll  be  all  right." 

This  was  consoling,  and  we  followed  him, 
as  directed,  to  the  other  side  of  the  platform, 
resuming  our  march  up  and  down  while  he 
sat  on  his  barrow  and  kept  guard  over  us 
and  our  belongings.  Evidently  he  had 
taken  us  under  his  own  especial  wing. 

Presently  he  rushed  up  to  us,  his  face  all 
aglow  with  delight.  "  D'ye  see  that  leddy 
sittin'  in  the  drag  in  front  ?  "  he  said,  in  a 
loud  whisper  which  he  tried  to  soften  by 
half  covering  his  mouth  with  his  hand. 
"That's  the  marchioness  o'  Eipon,  an' 
she's  a-waitin'  for  the  Markis  her  husband. 
Look  at  her,  look  !  " 

We  gravely  thanked  him,  seeing  only  a 
quiet  lady  in  black,  serenely  unconscious 
that  she  was  being  forced  thus  unceremo- 
niously upon  the  attention  of  stranger  eyes. 

Pretty  soon  our  all-observant  porter  ap- 
peared again,  touching  his  cap.  "  Now," 
he  whispered,  "if  ye  will  but  watch  the 


144     RirON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

dure,  presently  ye'll  see  the  Markis  hisself 
a-comin'  out.  The  Markis,  ye  see,  he's 
been  in  Injy,  an'  came  home  only  Friday 
was  a  week." 

Evidently  "the  Markis"  was  a  hero. 
But  he  appeared  presently  —  a  fine-looking, 
soldierly  man  with  a  gray  beard  —  seated 
himself  beside  his  wife,  and  they  drove  off. 

The  omnibus  "returned  at  last,  and  we 
reached  The  Unicorn  just  as  the  twilight 
shades  were  falling. 

Very  quaint  and  old-fashioned  is  this 
ancient  inn,  where,  as  at  Haworth,  we 
found  hams  and  bacon  hanging  from  the 
dark  rafters  of  the  entrance  hall.  Perhaps 
the  West  Riding  especially  affects  this  style 
of  mural,  or  aulic,  decoration,  which  we  did 
not  happen  to  fall  upon  anywhere  else. 
But  be  this  as  it  may,  The  Unicorn  is  a 
typical  English  inn  of  the  old  regime,  and 
one  of  the  best  of  its  class,  with  comfort- 
able rooms,  a  homelike  air,  good  service, 
and  a  fair  table. 


RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     145 

Doubtless  we  would  not  have  gone  to 
Ripon,  if  Ripon  had  not  been  the  gate  to 
Fountains  Abbey.  But  having  done  so, 
we  found  it  had  independent  interests  of 
its  own,  and  was  quite  worth  visiting  on  its 
own  behalf.  Remarkable  earthworks,  sur- 
rounded by  mound  and  trench,  carry  the 
history  of  the  town  back  to  prehistoric 
ages.  Evidences  of  very  early  occupation 
have  been  found  in  the  shape  of  arrow- 
heads, beads,  and  coarse  pottery.  Near 
Studley  Hall  was  once  found  a  fine  gold 
torque,  or  necklace,  buried  between  two 
stones ;  and  at  no  great  distance  a  huge 
bronze  sword  which  is  said  to  have  been 
destroyed  by  its  superstitious  discoverer 
lest  he  should  be  "bewitched"  by  its 
possession. 

Fragments  of  tessellated  pavements,  a 
Roman  vase  or  two,  and  some  coins  dating 
from  Vespasian  to  Constantine,  go  to  prove 
the  Roman  occupation  of  Ripon.  In  the 
seventh  century,  Alchfrith,  Prince  of  Deira, 


146     RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

was  lord  of  the  soil ;  and  he  gave  to  Eata, 
then  Abbot  of  Melrose,  land  on  which  to 
found  a  monastery.  But  the  Scottish  monks 
failed  to  make  good  their  claim,  and  were 
succeeded  by  Wilfrith,  now  known  as  St. 
Wilfrid,  a  good  and  learned  man  who  re- 
built the  monastery  on  a  grander  scale,  and 
made  it  ever  after  the  object  of  a  peculiar 
affection. 

Danes  and  Saxons  in  turn  ravaged  Ri- 
pon.  The  Northumbrian  kings  came  and 
went.  William  the  Conqueror  bestowed 
"ye  manor  of  Rippon"  on  Thomas  of 
Bayeux.  In  1319  Robert  Bruce,  turn- 
ing his  army  southward,  tarried  three 
days  at  Ripon,  imposing  heavy  tribute 
upon  its  inhabitants,  and,  so  say  the 
chronicles,  "perpetrating  many  atroci- 
ties." 

The  prosperity  of  the  town  depended 
mainly  on  its  woollen  manufactures.  The 
country  people  resorted  to  its  fairs  and 
markets,  which,  with  the  presence  and 


RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     147 

patronage  of  two  great  ecclesiastical  estab- 
lishments, must  have  given  it  a  certain 
commercial  importance  and  dignity.  During 
the  fifteenth  century  it  seems  to  have  es- 
caped entanglement  in  the  desolating  wars 
of  York  and  Lancaster  ;  but  what  answered 
in  those  days  for  our  modern  police  reports 
give  us  curious  glimpses  into  the  life  of  the 
place.  For  instance,  one  Henry  Scrotton, 
"Chaplain  at  the  Minster,"  is  accused  of 
neglecting  his  duties,  of  occupying  himself 
in  "secular  trading,  as  if  he  were  a  lay- 
man," and,  in  addition  to  this  enormity, 
of  mixing  sand  with  the  wool  he  sold  to 
increase  its  weight !  Verily,  the  adultera- 
tors of  sugar  in  this  nineteenth  century  can- 
not lay  claim  to  much  originality. 

A  certain  tailor  is  charged  with  disturb- 
ing the  order  of  divine  service  by  drawing 
his  dagger  upon  a  rival  knight  of  the  shears 
"in  a  tumid  and  pompous  manner."  A 
medical  man  gets  into  trouble  for  using 
abusive  language;  and  one  John  Clynt  is 


148     RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

commanded  by  the  authorities  to  leave  the 
enticing  company  of  a  certain  fair  widow, 
"  on  pain  of  marrying  her." 

But  police  reports,  then  as  now,  show 
only  one  side  of  the  shield ;  and  it  is  not 
to  be  doubted  that  the  Ripon  folk  of  the 
fifteenth  century  were  quite  as  good  and 
respectable  as  their  neighbours. 

At  length  its  religious  houses,  or  commu- 
nities, were  dissolved,  its  woollen  manu- 
factures failed,  and  a  "great  plague"  fell 
upon  poor  Ripon,  filling  up  the  cup  of  its 
misfortunes.  Its  local  leaders  joined  the 
earls  of  Northumberland  and  Westmore- 
land in  the  great  rising  of  the  North  in 
1569,  which  ended  most  disastrously  —  so 
disastrously  that,  with  all  the  offending 
serving  men  of  the  West  Riding,  the  rebel 
townsmen  of  Ripon  were  put  to  death  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  their  kindred,  and  in  sight 
of  their  own  homes. 

No  good  and  loyal  town  of  England 
neglects  to  keep  a  record  of  the  visits  of 


RIPON   AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     149 

its  sovereigns.  So  here  we  are  told  that 
King  James  I.  arrived  in  Ripon  on  the 
evening  of  Tuesday,  April  15,  1617,  and 
"  lodged  with  Mr.  George  Dawson,  in  Bond- 
gate."  "We  may  be  sure  that  Mistress  Daw- 
son  and  her  handmaidens  rose  early  that 
spring  morning ;  and  that  buttery  and  still- 
room  overflowed  with  preparations  for  the 
royal  supper.  Mr.  Recorder  Proctor  made 
a  speech,  and  Mr.  Mayor  presented  the  King 
with  a  gilt  bowl  and  a  pair  of  Ripon  spurs, 
costing  five  pounds.  Right  gladly  must 
His  Majesty  have  received  the  latter,  for 
Ripon  spurs  were  famous.  From  their 
fine  quality  came  the  proverb  "As  true 
steel  as  Ripon  rowels."  Ben  Jonson 
says,  "  Why,  there's  an  angel,  if  my 
spurs  be  not  right  Rippon."  And  Dave- 
nant,  in  his  "Wits,"  has  this  allusion: 
"Whip  me  with  wire,  beaded  with  rowels 
of  Sharp  Rippon  Spurs." 

A  very  curious  ancient  custom  still  pre- 
vails in  Ripon;   and  it  is  well  worth  the 


150     RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

visitor's  while  to  listen  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening  for  the  three  blasts  of  the 
wakeman's  horn.  The  "Wakeman,"  be 
it  known,  is  none  other  than  the  mayor, 
whose  official  horn-blower  sounds  the  horn 
three  times  before  His  Honour's  door,  and 
once  afterwards  at  the  market-cross  while 
the  seventh  bell  of  the  cathedral  is  ringing. 
This  horn  formerly  announced  the  setting 
of  the  watch  ;  whence  came  the  title  of  the 
chief  official,  —  "  the  Wakeman."  In  fact, 
the  office  of  wakeman  is  far  older  than  that 
of  mayor.  But  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth 
the  borough  got  into  trouble  —  discord  and 
dissension  arising  as  to  the  manner  of  hold- 
ing the  elections.  At  length,  under  James 
I.,  a  new  charter  of  incorporation  was 
granted  the  town,  obtained  chiefly  by  the 
efforts  of  a  Mr.  Hugh  Eipley,  who  was  at 
that  time  wakeman,  and  who  was  nomi- 
nated by  the  .  Crown  as  first  mayor  of 
Ripon.  The  old  title,  however,  long  pre- 
vailed. The  wakeman  and  his  men  were 


RIPOX    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     15! 

expected  literally  to  "wake  and  watch," 
and  if  any  one  was  robbed  within  the  town 
limits,  His  Honour  was  held  accountable. 

For  keeping  this  watch  the  wakeman 
received  from  every  householder  whose 
domicile  possessed  one  outside  door  the 
heavy  annual  tax  of  twopence.  Whoever 
owned  a  house  grand  enough  to  boast  of 
"a  gate  door  and  a  back  door"  was  re- 
quired to  pay  "fourpence  by  the  year  of 
duty." 

We  did  not  learn  all  this  that  night ;  for 
it  takes  time  to  make  archaeological  and  his- 
torical investigations,  even  if  one  has  little 
else  to  do.  On  the  contrary,  we  went  to 
bed  forthwith,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
justly  tired  traveller,  not  even  dreaming  of 
the  "Marchioness  o'  Ripon." 

We  two  women,  who  did  not  have  occa- 
sion to  put  on  our  overshoes,  or  to  unfold 
our  mackintoshes,  from  the  middle  of  June 
to  the  last  of  August,  can  think  of  England 
only  as  a  land  of  blue  skies  and  charming 


152     RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

weather.  The  next  day,  as  usual,  dawned 
fair  as  a  dream.  It  was  just  warm  enough 
for  comfort;  just  cool  enough  for  brisk 
walking.  In  short,  it  was  an  ideal  day  for 
seeing  Fountains  Abbey ;  and  soon  after 
breakfast  we  were  in  a  light,  open  carriage 
on  our  way  thither. 

Passing  through  the  little  village  of  Stud- 
ley,  we  soon  entered  Studley  Royal  Park 
and  drove  up  the  noble  avenue  of  limes, 
over  a  mile  in  length.  I  say  up,  without 
any  regard  to  the  points  of  compass,  there 
being  a  slight  ascent  all  the  way.  At  some 
distance  to  the  right  stands  the  mansion 
house  of  the  Marquis  of  Ripon,  the  owner 
of  the  park  and  of  the  stately  Abbey  where 
one  of  his  name — John  of  Rippon,  was 
buried  in  1435.  The  park  stretches  on  and 
on  in  long  and  seemingly  interminable  vis- 
tas ;  and  beneath  the  great  trees  herds  of 
deer,  so  tame  that  they  did  not  so  much  as 
lift  their  antlered  heads  to  look  at  us,  were 
quietly  feeding. 


RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     ItjJ 

At  the  end  of  the  avenue  stands  the 
beautiful  chapel  built  by  Lady  Mary  Vyner 
in  memory  of  a  son  who  was  killed  in  Italy 
by  brigands.  Here  our  driver  halted  un-< 
bidden,  and  forth  from  a  small  lodge  near 
by  came  an  old  woman  with  the  key.  Did 
the  ladies  wish  to  see  the  church  ?  We  had 
never  heard  of  it  before,  but  we  concluded 
that  we  did,  —  much  to  her  apparent  sat- 
isfaction. So  she  smilingly  unlocked  the 
door  and  let  us  in. 

The  little  building  is  beautiful,  merely  a 
nave  with  aisles  and  a  chancel.  The  chan- 
cel steps,  symbolical  of  Purity,  Sin,  and 
Redemption  (so  said  our  garrulous  guide), 
are  of  white,  gray,  and  crimson  marble, 
the  gray  being  intentionally  marred  and 
broken.  The  idea  must  have  been  bor- 
rowed from  Dante,  in  "II  Purgatorio." 

"The  lowest   stair    was   marble   white  — so 

smooth 

And  polished  that  therein  my  mirrored  form 
Distinct  I  saw.    The  next  of  hue  more  dark 


154     RIPON   AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

Than  sablest  grain,  a  rough  and  singed  block 
Crack'd  lengthwise  and  across.    The  third, 

that  lay 

Massy  above,  seem'd  porphyry  that  flamed 

Red  as  the  life-blood  spouting  from  a  vein." 

Canto  IX.  85-92. 


We  did  not  linger  long,  for  not  even  this 
token  of  a  mother's  love  and  sorrow  could 
keep  us  within,  when  all  out  of  doors  was 
so  enchanting.  Looking  back  over  the 
way  we  had  come,  as  we  delayed  a  mo- 
ment on  the  steps  of  the  chapel,  we  saw 
the  gray  towers  of  Ripon  Cathedral  closing 
the  vista  in  the  far  distance. 

Retracing  our  steps  for  a  little  way,  we 
turned  to  the  left  and  drove  through  a  long 
avenue  to  the  Lodge,  beyond  which  no 
carriages  are  allowed  to  pass.  And  here 
words  fail,  and  memory  and  imagination 
halt.  No  tongue  or  pen  can  fitly  describe 
the  beauty  that  entranced  us  that  morning. 
Leaving  the  gates  shrouded  in  luxurious 
foliage,  we  chose  the  shorter  way  to  the 


RIPON   AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     155 

Abbey,  down  a  wide  path  that  followed  the 
windings  of  the  little  river  Skell.  At  our 
left  was  a  closely  shaven  hedge  of  laurel, 
rising  far  above  our  heads,  through  which 
at  short  intervals  windows  had  been  cut  — 
"peeps"  or  openings,  giving  exquisite 
glimpses  of  the  winding  river  which  ever 
and  anon  widens  into  a  wide  and  shining 
lake,  with  its  rustic  bridges,  green,  ivy-man- 
tled islands  adorned  with  statues  and  foun- 
tains, temples  and  columns;  and  on  the 
opposite  shore  a  graceful  octagon  tower 
crowning  a  wooded  hill.  Peacocks  strutted 
bravely  in  the  sun,  waterfowl  dipped  and 
fluttered,  stately  swans,  "with  arched  necks 
between  their  white  wings  mantling,"  glided 
slowly  hither  and  thither. 

The  walk  was  not  even  fatiguing,  so 
bright,  so  cool,  so  quiet,  was  it,  with  seats 
in  all  manner  of  unexpected  places,  where 
we  lingered  and  loitered  at  will.  At 
length,  in  the  midst  of  its  green  and  sweet 
seclusion,  we  found  the  glorious  Abbey, 


156     RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY 

remote,  silent,  deserted.  Passing  down 
the  entire  length  of  the  majestic  ruin,  with 
scarce  a  glance  at  the  great  north  tower, 
we  reached  the  ancient  gate-house  near 
the  west  front.  And  there  we  paused  to 
look  about  us. 

Details  are  utterly  useless.  How  grand, 
how  imposing,  yet  how  lovely  and  exquisite 
Fountains  Abbey  is,  with  its  towering,  vine- 
clad  columns,  its  majestic  arches,  its  lofty 
bays,  its  traceried  windows,  its  great  stretch 
of  double  cloisters,  its  splendid  nave,  its 
long,  receding  aisles,  stretching  on  and  on 
like  infinity  itself,  no  mortal  tongue  can 
tell.  Yet  this  is  the  seen  and  tangible. 
Beyond  this,  and  more  than  this,  is  the 
unseen  which  is  yet  so  clearly  visible  to  the 
eye  of  the  imagination.  For  here,  all 
open  to  the  sky,  with  no  hint  of  roof  or 
sheltering  wall,  lie  the  mighty  foundations 
of  hall  and  hospitium,  chapter-house  and 
refectory,  infirmary  and  prison.  Over  the 
magnificent  cloisters  once  stretched  the 


RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY     157 

great  dormitories.  Here  were  work-shops 
and  kitchens,  and  here  is  a  great  "  building 
of  unknown  use,"  whose  very  name  is 
forgotten. 

Fountains  Abbey  was  founded  in  1132 
by  devout  Benedictine  monks,  who,  weary 
of  lax  discipline,  resolved  to  adopt  the 
sterner  Cistercian  rule  then  becoming 
famous  through  the  sanctity  and  enthusi- 
asm of  St.  Bernard.  Richard  the  Prior 
(so  called),  with  the  Sub-prior  and  ten 
monks  of  St.  Mary's  in  York,  came  hither 
to  what  was  then  a  wild  and  uncultivated 
valley,  in  the  depth  of  winter,  living  at  first 
in  caves  and  under  the  shelter  of  trees. 
On  a  little  knoll  not  far  from  the  Hall,  still 
stand  a  group  of  yew-trees  called  the 
Seven  Sisters,  said  by  tradition  to  have 
sheltered  the  monks  before  the  building  of 
the  Abbey.  One  feels  inclined  to  ask 
whether  there  is  any  natural  limit  to  the 
life  of  a  yew-tree.  Methuselahs  of  the 
race  seem  to  lift  their  hoary  heads  wher- 


158     K1PON   AND   FOUNTAINS   ABBEY 

ever  there  is  an  abbey,  or  even  an  ancient 
church,  like  that  at  Iffley. 

Out  of  these  small  beginnings  grew  by 
degrees  the  magnificence  that  bewilders 
the  senses  even  now  when  it  is  a  vast  pile 
of  ruins.  Cowl  and  cassock  must  have 
grown  a-weary  of  deprivation  and  poverty, 
for  there  is  surely  no  trace  of  asceticism 
here.  Nothing  on  earth  can  be  more  beau- 
tiful in  its  way  than  Fountains  Abbey  and 
its  surroundings.  It  has  had  no  Scott  to 
immortalize  it,  as  the  great  magician  of  the 
North  has  immortalized  Melrose.  If  it 
had,  the  whole  world  would  be  at  its  feet. 

We  could  have  lingered  there  forever, 
but  the  longest,  fairest  day  must  wane  at 
last.  Returning  to  the  park  gates  by  the 
longer  way  on  the  other  bank  of  the  Skell, 
we  stopped  again  and  again  to  look  and 
marvel.  At  length,  after  having  lost  sight 
of  the  Abbey  for  some  time,  we  ascended  a 
little  hill  and  there  caught  our  last  view  of 
it  —  aptly  called  the  "Surprise" — a  won- 


RIPON    AND    FOUNTAINS    ABBEY      159 

derful  picture  with  a  foreground  of  winding 
river  and  wooded  banks  ending  in  a  lovely 
silhouette  of  the  eastern  transept  and  the 
north  tower.  In  this  transept  are  the  nine 
altars  of  John  de  Carcia,  the  effect  of 
which  must  have  been  singularly  like  those 
in  the  east  transept  at  Durham. 

Ripon  is  very  proud  of  its  own  pretty 
little  Cathedral.  I  say  "little"  without 
knowing  its  actual  dimensions.  Anything 
would  seem  small  beside  the  magnificent 
reaches  of  Fountains  Abbey.  But  great  or 
small,  we  gave  it  hardly  more  than  a  pass- 
ing glance.  Our  heads  and  hearts  were  too 
full  of  its  overwhelming  neighbour. 


VII 
CHURCH  AND  FORTRESS 

VTO  doubt  Altera  and  I  were  not  the  first 
to  discover  that  the  personal  equation 
is  one  that  must  always  be  taken  into  the 
account.  We  carry  ourselves  with  us 
wherever  we  go,  with  all  our  limitations 
and  all  our  weaknesses.  It  is  not  always 
safe  to  conclude  that  a  poem  is  not  good 
because  you  fail  to  appreciate  it ;  or  that  a 
cathedral  is  not  glorious  because  it  moves 
you  less  than  others  have  done. 

If,  for  instance,  you  have  been  hobnob- 
bing for  two  exciting  days  with  the  three 
sisters  of  Haworth ;  if  you  have  lain 
awake  in  a  haunted  chamber  of  the  Black 
Bull  Inn,  hearing,  with  Charlotte  Bronte's 
ears,  the  church  clock  strike  the  quarter 
160 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  l6l 

hours  the  whole  night  through ;  if  the 
quaint  Yorkshire  village  and  the  lonely 
moors  have  taken  possession  of  you,  soul 
and  body,  —  and  then,  spent  and  ex- 
hausted, you  go  to  York  only  to  find  the 
city  in  the  clutches  of  a  great  agricultural 
fair,  and  overrun  by  a  motley  horde  swarm- 
ing at  every  corner,  crowding  every  hotel, 
and  taking  possession  of  every  inch  of  the 
Cathedral,  the  chances  are  that  you  will 
find  the  great  minster  unsatisfactory. 

This  was  our  fate.  We  did  not  enjoy 
York,  because  our  time  happened  to  be 
limited,  and  circumstances  were  against  us. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  madam?" 
asked  one  of  the  vergers,  pausing  a  moment 
by  the  column  whereon  I  leaned  discon- 
solately. 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "tell  me  how  I  can  see 
the  minster  in  a  reasonable  way.  This  is 
only  an  aggravation." 

"  I  understand,  my  lady,"  he  answered. 
"  But  look  !  There  are  three  large  parties 

M 


l62  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

being  severally  conducted  at  this  very 
minute.  We  seldom  have  such  a  crowd." 

It  was  indeed  a  crowd.  All  Yorkshire, 
and  half  a  dozen  other  shires,  apparently, 
were  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone,  — 
taking  in  the  fair,  and  "  doing"  the 
Cathedral. 

"And  this  will  last  three  days  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Three  days 
and  more.  And  not  one  in  ten  know  what 
they  are  looking  at,  or  care  a  straw  for 
what  they  see.  But  you  understand  that 
under  the  circumstances  we  must  keep  the 
gates  locked." 

"Yes,  I  see.  Nevertheless,  we  must 
have  another  look  at  that  chapter-house, 
Altera." 

The  verger  laughed,  swinging  his  keys. 

**  I  will  lock  you  into  the  chapter-house, 
if  you  say  so,"  he  said.  "  You  may  stay 
half  an  hour.  I  am  just  leaving ;  but  I 
will  tell  one  of  my  associates  to  let  you 
out." 


riVEl  5  FSTERS"  Yo  RK  Mi 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  163 

Needless  to  say,  we  jumped  at  his  offer. 
We  were  standing  in  the  north  transept, 
gazing  up  at  the  "Five  Sisters,"  the  five 
exquisite  lancet- windows  with  their  double 
mullions,  all  silver  grays,  and  tender 
olives,  and  sage  greens,  as  soft  as  moon- 
light. Passing  into  the  east  aisle,  we 
stopped  a  moment  at  the  tomb  of  Arch- 
bishop Greenfield,  and  then  the  wroiight 
iron  gate,  or  door,  of  the  vestibule  was 
opened  for  us.  Near  it  is  this  singularly 
appropriate  inscription, 

"Ut  rosa  flos  florum,  sic  est  domus  ista 
domorum." 

The  vestibule  itself  is  more  than  beauti- 
ful ;  but  as  to  the  chapter-house  to  whict 
it  leads,  it  is  perhaps  not  too  much  to  say 
that  it  is  indeed  "domus  domorum."  It 
has  no  central  column,  —  which  is  the  main, 
distinguishing  feature  of  most  chapter- 
houses, —  is  octagonal  in  form,  and  each 
of  the  eight  bays  is  one  great,  glorious 
window,  with  geometrical  tracing. 


164  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

Altera  sank  into  one  of  the  canopied  seats 
of  carven  stone  that  run  the  circuit  of  the 
room,  underneath  richly  coloured  windows, 
and  removed  her  veil  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  What  a  chamber  of  peace  !  "  she  cried, 
"  after  that  gabbling,  discordant  crowd ! " 

No  sounds  reached  us.  We  might  have 
been  in  the  heart  of  a  forest.  It  was  good 
to  be  there,  on  that  Mount  of  Transfigura- 
tion. 

But  all  good  things  must  have  an  end. 
Our  half  hour  was  up ;  and  with  many 
lingering  looks  we  retraced  our  way 
through  the  long,  rectangular  vestibule  to 
the  iron  gate. 

Not  a  verger  was  to  be  seen,  and  the 
north  transept  was  empty.  Apparently 
all  the  world  had  gone  in  pursuit  of 
luncheon.  "It  seems  we  are  prisoners,"  I 
said,  beating  the  bars  in  vain.  "  What 
next?" 

We  studied  the  efflorescence,  the  whorls 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  165 

and  tendrils,  of  that  gate  for  full  another 
half  hour,  before  we  were  able  to  attract 
the  attention  of  a  stray  visitor  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  beg  him  to  send  some  one  to 
our  rescue. 

A  verger  (not  ours)  came,  laughing,  but 
with  many  apologies. 

"It  is  all  my  fault,  ladies,"  he  said, 
flinging  wide  the  door;  "I  was  told  to 
let  you  out,  but  was  with  a  party  and 
forgot  all  about  it.  I  hope  there  is  no 
harm  done?" 

"Not  the  least,"  I  replied,  " provided  we 
have  not  lost  our  train.  Good  morning ! " 

We  went  our  way ;  and  all  I  remember 
of  York  is  the  wonderful  beauty  of  its 
chapter-house,  its  wealth  of  stained  win- 
dows, and  the  curious  stone  rood-screen 
of  rich  tabernacle-work,  with  statues  of 
English  kings  from  William  the  Conqueror 
to  Henry  VI.,  "inclusive,"  as  the  cata- 
logues say.  Their  stony  eyes  look  pre- 
cisely as  if  they  wore  spectacles. 


l66  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

In  due  time,  we  took  the  train  for  Dur- 
ham. The  country  through  which  we  sped 
was  not  especially  interesting;  and  a  lo- 
quacious fellow-traveller,  self -conceited  and 
opinionated,  did  his  part  towards  making 
the  trip  disagreeable.  We  were  glad  when 
from  the  great  railroad  bridge  over  the 
Wear,  we  saw  the  walls  of  "  time-honoured 
Durham,"  Castle  and  Cathedral  both,  rising 
sheer  from  the  face  of  the  cliff,  embowered 
in  dense  masses  of  foliage. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  If  one  is 
possessed  of  a  spark  of  imagination  to  be 
kindled,  or  of  poetic  instinct,  —  to  say  noth- 
ing of  religious  feeling, — there  is  an  inex- 
pressible charm  about  cathedral  services. 
What  does  it  matter  if  (as  often  happens, 
though  seldom  on  Sunday)  there  seems  to 
be  a  "beggarly  array  of  empty  benches"? 
To  a  sensitive  nature  a  cathedral  is  an 
embodied  prayer.  It  is  prayer  incarnate. 
Every  supplication,  every  litany,  every 
chanted  psalm,  that  has  ever  gone  up 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  l6/ 

from  its  altar,  seems  to  hover  yet  about 
its  time-worn,  hallowed  walls  and  vaulted 
roofs,  and  to  have  been  absorbed  into  its 
very  being. 

Nevertheless,  Altera  did  the  praying  for 
both  of  us  that  morning,  while  I  dreamed 
and  mused  listlessly  in  my  room,  saving  my 
strength  for  the  morrow.  In  the  afternoon 
we  took  the  "Long  Walk"  on  the  banks 
of  the  Wear,  which  is  a  lovely,  fascinat- 
ing little  river.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
English  lakes  and  rivers,  famed  in  story 
and  in  song,  are  sometimes  disappointing. 
Or  rather,  they  would  be,  were  it  not  for 
the  song  and  the  story.  The  "banks  and 
braes  o'  Bonny  Doon"  are  beautiful  in 
themselves;  but  who  would  care  if  they 
were  not  ?  Or  who  would  measure  Cader 
Idris,  Ben  Venue,  or  Ben  Nevis  ? 

The  Wear  winds  and  turns  and  doubles 
on  its  track  in  curves  and  loops,  like  a 
child  playing  hide-and-seek.  In  fact,  as 
you  follow  its  densely  wooded  banks,  you 


l68  CHURCH    AND   FORTRESS 

feel  as  if  you  were  yourself  in  a  game 
of  hide-and-seek  with  both  Cathedral  and 
Castle,  which  seemed  to  dodge  and  elude 
you,  appearing  sometimes  on  your  right 
hand,  and  the  next  minute  on  your  left, 
in  most  bewildering  fashion. 

We  came  out  near  the  Cathedral,  having 
escaped  the  steep  ascent  by  this  circuitous 
route  ;  and  from  the  bank  below  the  west 
front  were  able  to  see  the  Galilee  Porch  to 
great  advantage.  Here,  on  a  sheer  cliff, 
lifted  high  above  the  river  —  a  cliff  up 
which  great  forest  trees  have  been  slowly 
clambering  for  ages  —  the  Cathedral  towers 
aloft,  stern,  majestic,  imposing.  To  the 
left,  or  northward,  lies  the  gray,  battle- 
mented  castle ;  to  the  right  are  old  mo- 
nastic buildings,  now  turned  to  happy, 
domestic  uses,  sitting  in  fair  gardens  and 
shadowy  groves.  Surely  no  cathedral  in 
England,  perhaps  none  in  the  world,  can 
rival  this  proud  Durham  in  the  splendour 
and  grandeur  of  its  site.  Lincoln,  indeed, 


CHURCH   AND   FORTRESS  169 

sits  on  its  "sovereign  hill";  but  not  in 
stately  isolation.  Meaner  buildings  crowd 
around  it,  and  press  upon  its  knees.  Dur- 
ham is  a  king  on  his  throne,  lifted  high 
above  the  multitude,  yet  stretching  out 
beneficent  hands  in  benediction. 

But  while  we  are  on  the  bank  beneath 
it,  perhaps  this  is  the  best  time  and  place 
for  a  word  about  the  western  facade.  No 
doubt  the  west  doors  at  Durham,  as  else- 
where, were  originally  the  chief  entrances 
—  standing  far  enough  back  from  the  cliff 
to  admit  of  use.  But  now  there  are  no 
doors  here.  For,  it  must  be  said,  the  good 
St.  Cuthbert,  who  was  the  founder  of  Dur- 
ham, —  and  of  whom  more  anon,  —  had  a 
pronounced  dislike  to  women.  His  shrine 
was  in  the  place  of  honour,  east  of  the  choir, 
and  behind  the  high  altar.  Now  if  the 
Lady-Chapel,  which  is  what  this  great 
Galilee  Porch  really  is,  had  been  set  in  the 
usual  position  at  the  east,  there  is  no  telling 
what  dire  results  might  not  have  followed. 


I7O  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

In  fact,  it  is  a  matter  of  history  that 
about  the  year  1150  Bishop  Pudsey  began 
to  build  a  Lady-Chapel  at  the  east  end  of 
the  Cathedral.  But  the  attempt  was  un- 
successful, owing  either  to  the  displeasure 
of  God  and  the  saint,  —  or  to  the  spongy, 
peaty  quality  of  the  soil.  Anyhow,  there 
was  a  shrinkage,  and  a  crumbling  of  walls, 
—  which  was  of  course  ominous ;  and  the 
good  Bishop  hastened  to  remove  his  fine 
columns  of  Purbeck  marble,  and  the  heavy 
bases  "from  beyond  the  sea,"  to  the  west 
front,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  dust  of 
fastidious  St.  Cuthbert.  After  which  all 
seems  to  have  been  sweetly  serene  as  well 
as  stable. 

But  the  walls  of  the  Galilee  rise  sheer 
from  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  seem  almost 
a  part  of  it.  There  are  no  outside  doors, 
the  only  entrance  to  the  chapel  being  di- 
rectly from  the  nave. 

The  next  morning  we  drove  up  the  steep, 
narrow  street  leading  from  the  town  to  the 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  171 

ancient  castle  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
which  is  now  used  as  a  university.  One 
fancies  that  the  sturdy  old  Norman,  who 
had  more  reverence  for  broadswords  and 
chain  mail  than  for  books,  or  parchment 
scrolls,  would  cry  out,  "To  what  base 
uses  we  may  return,  Horatio  ! "  if  he  could 
see  the  hoary  keep  as  it  is  now,  —  a  comfort- 
able dormitory  for  young  men.  It  was  the 
long  vacation,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  cap 
or  gown.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  were  rather 
glad  of  it,  as  we  wandered  about  the  grand 
old  fortress,  the  scene  of  so  many  conflicts 
between  Scot  and  Southron,  gazed  up  at  its 
battlemented  towers,  and  trod  its  storied 
courtyard. 

The  castle  is  wonderfully  well  preserved 
in  its  still  hale  old  age.  It  looks  —  and  so 
does  its  spiritual  sister  across  the  green — 
as  if  it  might  outlive  the  everlasting  hills  ; 
and  the  changes  necessary  to  adapt  it  to  its 
present  uses  have  been  made,  for  the  most 
part,  with  skill  and  care,  and  a  thoughtful 


172  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

reverence  for  its  past.  Of  course  in  this 
utilitarian  age  one  ought  to  be  glad  —  and 
one  is  glad  —  that  this  vast  mass  of  ivy- 
mantled  stone  should  be  put  to  some  be- 
neficent use.  It  is  well  that  serene  and 
elegant  learning  should  abide  where  once 
"  stern -visaged  war  did  rear  its  awful 
front."  Yet  if  one  has  an  eye  for  the  pict- 
uresque, it  must  be  confessed  it  is  some- 
thing of  a  shock  to  find  the  "donjon  keep  " 
turned  into  a  bedroom,  with  mattress  and 
spring  bed  ! 

In  the  great  dining-hall  where  the  young 
students  now  eat,  yet  hang  the  heavy  bal- 
conies where  the  minstrels  tuned  their 
harps,  and  where,  so  tradition  saith,  Wil- 
liam Wallace  in  the  disguise  of  a  wandering 
pilgrim  sang  and  played  before  some  faire 
ladye  of  high  degree.  In  this  room  kings 
and  queens,  from  the  Empress  Matilda  down 
to  Charles  I.,  have  received  the  homage  of 
loyal  hosts.  Many  of  the  walls  are  hung 
with  tapestries  wrought  by  pious  nuns  in 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  173 

the  old  monastic  days;  and  on  the  great 
black  staircase  one  seems  to  see  stately, 
shadowy  figures  ascending  and  descending 
—  knight  and  crusader,  prelate,  priest,  and 
king. 

Near  the  kitchen  we  were  shown  a  mas- 
sive, iron-bound  chest,  in  which  it  is  said 
St.  Cuthbert's  body  once  lay.  At  the  time 
of  the  Reformation  it  was  removed  here  to 
await  the  pleasure  of  Henry  VIII.  ;  but  was 
eventually  restored  to  its  resting-place. 
The  great  saint  seems  to  have  been  well 
provided  with  coffins.  He  died  at  Lindes- 
farne,  or  Holy  Island,  A.D.  685.  Eleven 
years  afterward  the  monks,  having  occa- 
sion to  remove  the  body,  found  it  quite  un- 
changed, and  made  for  it  a  new  coffin  of 
carved  wood,  large  fragments  of  which  are 
still  preserved  in  the  Cathedral  library.  As 
we  stood  looking  at  it,  a  voice  said,  — 

' '  It  will  be  twelve  hundred  years  next 
Thursday  since  St.  Cuthbert  died  ;  and  on 
that  day  there  will  be  a  great  pilgrimage 


174  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

to  Holy  Island."  Thus  are  past  and  present 
linked  together. 

In  the  crypt  of  the  castle  is  a  small  pri- 
vate chapel,  built  for  his  own  use  by  the 
great  Norman  Conqueror.  It  was  a  fit  ora- 
tory, so  rude,  so  rough,  so  strong,  looking 
as  if  some  Titan  had  hewed  it  from  the 
glolid  rock 

Presently  we  heard  a  great  bell,  tolling, 
tolling,  tolling,  and  the  peal  of  an  organ. 
Hurrying  across  Castle  Green,  the  broad, 
level  space  that  divides  the  castle  from  the 
Cathedral,  we  entered  the  vast,  vaulted 
nave,  and  found  ourselves  uninvited  guests 
at  a  funeral  service.  Silently  and  rever- 
ently we  made  our  way  up  the  north  aisle, 
and  found  seats  near  the  choir.  "  It  is  one 
of  the  Minor  Canons,"  some  one  whis- 
pered. "  He  died  on  Friday." 

The  white-surpliced  choir  boys  were 
chanting,  while  the  organ  breathed  softly. 
Then  suddenly  a  great  flood  of  melody 
filled  all  the  vaulted  spaces,  and  a  grand 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  175 

voice  sang  the  well-known  hymn  of  Sir 
John  Goss,  —  "  Brother,  thou  hast  left  us." 
Four  men  lifted  the  coffin,  heaped  with 
flowers,  to  their  shoulders,  and  the  long 
procession,  —  deans,  canons,  priests,  choir 
boys  and  people,  — passed  out  by  the  door  in 
the  south  transept,  into  the  adjoining  grave- 
yard. It  was  most  impressive,  that  funeral 
pageant,  so  unexpectedly  encountered  ;  and 
strangers  though  we  were,  we  breathed 
more  freely  when  dust  was  committed  to 
dust. 

It  is  worth  something  to  know  that  he 
who  has  seen  Durham  has  seen  the  finest 
specimen  of  Norman  architecture  now  ex- 
isting in  England,  or  perhaps  in  the  world  ; 
for  it  is  conceded  that  there  is  nothing  finer, 
if  as  fine,  on  the  Continent.  But  here  are 
no  lace-like  traceries ;  here  is  no  exquisite 
colouring.  However  much  we  may  have 
admired  and  enjoyed  these  elsewhere,  they 
are  not  needed  here.  All  is  sombre,  mas- 
sive, stately,  imposing,  blent  with  such  a 


176  CHURCH    AND   FORTRESS 

solemn,  awful  beauty  that  the  heart  throbs, 
the  throat  swells,  and  the  eyes  grow  dim. 
The  mighty  nave  with  the  stone  vaulting  of 
its  roof,  —  a  marvellous  roofing  that  is  a 
characteristic  feature  of  the  whole  building ; 
the  great  circular  piers  strangely  decorated, 
if  one  may  use  the  word  in  this  connection, 
by  deep,  incised  lines  in  the  stone,  cut  in 
various  patterns,  zigzag,  lozenge,  and  deep 
flutings,  in  which  black  shadows  brood  ; 
the  heavy  zigzag  and  dog-tooth  mouldings, 
not  unlike  those  at  Iffley  ;  the  stately  splen- 
dour of  the  choir ;  the  graceful  beauty  of 
the  "Nine  Altars," — an  eastern  transept 
taking  the  place  of  the  apse  in  which  the 
Norman  choir  once  ended, — all  these,  with 
countless  details  of  chantry,  tomb,  and 
shrine,  that  cannot  be  so  much  as  men- 
tioned here,  combine  to  make  an  impres- 
sion too  vivid  to  be  ever  forgotten. 

I  have  said  that  St.  Cuthbert  hated 
women  —  or  feared  their  wiles,  possibly, 
—  which  may  be  a  gentler  way  of  put- 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  177 

ting  it.  This  feeling  seems  to  have  been 
inherited  by  his  successors,  unless  to  do 
their  master  honour  they  did  violence  to 
their  own  feelings.  When  the  nave  of  Dur- 
ham was  built,  a  line  of  dark  Frosterly 
marble,  crossed  by  two  central  lines,  was 
let  into  the  stone  flagging,  just  west  of  the 
north  and  south  doors.  Over  this  line,  in 
the  earlier  days,  no  woman's  foot  might  step. 
She  might  not  approach  sanctuary,  or  high 
altar,  or  kneel  at  St.  Cuthbert's  splendid 
shrine.  I  doubt  if  the  records  tell  just 
when  this  embargo  on  womanhood  was 
removed.  But  one  cannot  stand  beside 
the  spot  where  his  dust  unquestionably 
lies,  without  a  tender  thought  for  the 
doughty  old  man  whose  name  has  lived 
so  long,  the  first  of  the  long  line  of  prince- 
bishops  that  make  the  annals  of  Durham 
glorious.  Of  humble  parentage,  we  hear 
of  him  first  as  a  shepherd  boy  tending  his 
flocks  not  far  from  Melrose  ;  next  as  a  stu- 
dent, or  acolyte,  at  St.  David's ;  then  as  a 


178  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

great  evangelist,  or  missionary,  preaching 
in  the  wilds  of  Northumbria.  He  became 
bishop,  "much  against  his  will,"  but  the 
people  would  have  him  for  their  spiritual 
ruler,  and  he  yielded.  It  is  said  of  him 
that  he  possessed  "  eminent  self-control  and 
patience,  and  great  persuasive  power," 
with  a  deep  and  tender  sympathy  that 
drew  all  hearts  to  him,  as  the  moon  at- 
tracts the  sea.  His  ministration  was  wise, 
vigorous,  and  beneficent.  Let  womanhood 
forgive  him  for  the  cross  in  the  nave. 

St.  Cuthbert  was  first  buried  at  Lindis- 
farne,  where  was  a  monastery,  the  fore- 
runner of  Durham.  But  the  Danes  came 
over  the  sea,  and  the  monks  fled  far, 
carrying  with  them  their  treasures.  Of 
these  the  most  sacred  was  the  body  of  their 
saint.  For  years  they  wandered  homeless, 
settling  for  short  periods,  now  here,  now 
there.  And  here  comes  in  one  of  the 
strange  legends  that  go  to  show  how  widely 
the  life  and  thought  of  the  tenth  century 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  179 

differed  from  that  of  the  nineteenth.  The 
story  goes  that  the  monks,  bearing  their 
ghastly  burden  ever  with  them,  went 
searching  for  a  site  on  which  to  build  a 
church,  which  should  be  likewise  a  tomb 
for  their  bishop.  When  they  reached  a 
place  then  called  Ward  Lake,  not  far  from 
what  is  now  Durham,  the  coffin  was  placed 
upon  the  ground  while  they  rested.  When 
they  would  have  resumed  their  journey,  lo 
and  behold !  their  united  efforts  could  not 
stir  it.  The  saint  would  not  budge  an 
inch.  This  "wrought  great  admiration  in 
the  hearts  of  the  monks,"  and  ergo,  they 
fasted  and  prayed  three  days,  asking  what 
they  should  do  with  the  body  of  holy 
St.  Cuthbert.  They  were  told,  how  or  by 
whom  the  chronicle  saith  not,  to  carry  him 
to  Dunholme.  Here  was  a  dilemma.  None 
of  them  knew  where  Dunholme  was.  But 
let  us  quote  from  said  old  chronicle. 

"But  see  their  good  fortune!    As  they 
were  going,  a  woman  that  lacked  her  cow 


l8o  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

did  call  aloud  to  her  companion  to  know 
if  she  did  not  see  her,  who  answered  with 
a  loud  voice,  that  her  cow  was  in  Dun- 
holme,  a  happy  and  heavenly  echo  to  the 
distressed  monks,  who  by  that  means  were 
at  the  end  of  their  journey,  where  they 
should  find  a  resting-place  for  the  body  of 
their  honoured  saint." 

On  the  north  side  of  the  east  transept 
—  high  up  on  the  outer  wall — are  the 
sculptured  figures  of  two  milkmaids  and 
a  "Dun  Cow."  Thus  we  see  that,  after 
all,  the  voice  of  a  woman  decided  St. 
Cuthbert's  burial  place. 

The  Galilee  Porch  is  an  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful oblong  chapel,  with  five  aisles,  a  be- 
wildering maze  of  vaults  and  arches  and 
clustered  shafts,  all  richly  decorated  with 
zigzag  work.  Here  rest  the  ashes  of  the 
Venerable  Bede,  in  front  of  his  own  altar. 
Once  they  were  encased  in  a  magnificent 
shrine  of  gold  and  silver,  but  now  only 
the  severely  plain,  sarcophagus-like  tomb 


CHURCH    AND   FORTRESS  l8l 

remains.     It  bears  the  well-known  inscrip- 
tion, — 

"Hac  sunt  in  fossa  Bedae  venerabilis  ossa." 

Tradition  says,  that  when  the  sculptor, 
or  engraver,  hesitated  for  a  fitting  adjec- 
tive, an  angel  appeared,  took  the  graving 
tool,  and  wrote  the  word  "venerabilis." 
History  and  romance  are  alike  full  of  such 
"well-authenticated"  marvels. 

But  after  all  that  has  been  or  ever 
may  be  said,  of  the  overwhelming  glory 
of  Durham  as  a  church,  it  is,  perhaps,  the 
surpassing  splendour  of  its  site,  taken  in 
connection  with  the  castle,  that  makes  the 
strongest  and  most  unique  impression. 
"Half  church,  half  fortress,"  its  early 
bishops  were  princes  in  very  deed.  They 
were  military  rulers,  so  powerful  that  kings 
trembled  before  them.  Indeed,  the  Eng- 
lish kings  were  well  content  to  let  them 
reign  undisturbed  in  their  fair  domain  if 
only  they  could  be  depended  upon  to  de- 


1 82  CHURCH   AND    FORTRESS 

fend  the  border.  There  are  fabulous  tales 
of  their  splendour  and  power,  of  the  stately 
etiquette  of  their  regal  courts,  of  the  magnifi- 
cence of  their  retinues.  Thomas  a  Becket 
was  not  more  powerful  or  more  splendid  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  than  was  Anthony 
Bek  in  that  of  Edward  I.  It  was  fitting 
that  church  and  castle  should  stand  side 
by  side,  lifting  up  their  awful  fronts  as 
defenders  alike  of  the  faith  and  the  nation. 
Yet  Durham  had  its  softer  side.  If  it 
was  a  terror  to  evil-doers,  so  also  was  it  a 
refuge,  a  sanctuary.  As  one  crosses  the 
green  from  the  castle,  the  eye  is  caught  by 
a  great  bronze  knocker,  —  a  grotesque  head 
and  face  with  empty  eye-sockets.  Whether 
the  crystal  semblance  of  an  eye  once  shone 
therefrom,  or  whether  it  was  lighted  by 
a  lamp  within,  no  mortal  can  now  say. 
Hunted,  pursued,  with  war-hounds  on  his 
track,  even  if  he  were  robber,  murderer, 
traitor,  or  defiler,  whoever  came  flying  across 
the  green  was  safe  for  thirty -seven  days  if  he 


CHURCH   AND   FORTRESS  183 

but  grasped  this  knocker.  Over  the  north 
porch  can  yet  be  seen  the  chamber  where, 
year  after  year,  unceasing  watch  was  kept, 
lest  by  chance  any  hunted  soul  should  fly 
to  sanctuary  and  fail  to  find  speedy  en- 
trance. Yet  though  he  fell  fainting  against 
the  door,  if  he  but  touched  the  bronze 
knocker  he  was  safe.  It  is  pleasant  to 
think  that  through  these  cavernous  eyes 
the  light  of  a  friendly  lamp  may  have 
shone  as  a  beacon  in  the  darkness.  At 
the  west  end  of  the  south  aisle  of  the  nave 
"was  a  grate  whither  the  sanctuary  men 
did  fly  to,  when  they  came  for  refuge  to 
St.  Cuthbert,"  and  where,  in  addition  to 
this  great  boon  of  safety,  "  they  had  meat, 
drink,  and  bedding,  and  other  necessaries 
at  the  house  cost  and  charge,  for  thirty- 
seven  days." 

These  same  old  chroniclers  from  whom 
I  have  quoted,  paint  for  us  many  a  pretty 
picture,  softening  the  aspect  of  those  war- 
like days.  Around  the  beautiful  cloister 


184  CHURCH   AND   FORTRESS 

were  the  dormitories  and  the  refectory, 
where  the  monks  "slept  and  lived  and 
ate."  In  the  library,  and  in  small  cham- 
bers called  carrells,  they  studied.  There 
was  a  school  for  novices  in  the  west  alley, 
where  they  were  taught  by  "  one  of  the 
oldest  monks  that  was  learned."  He  was 
called  "Master  of  the  Novices,"  and  had 
"a  pretty  seat  of  wainscot,  adjoining  to 
the  south  side  of  the  treasury  door." 

We  were  in  one  of  the  shadowy  passages 
leading  to  this  same  cloister,  when  we 
noticed  two  low  arches,  precisely  alike. 

"What  are  they?"  said  one  of  us. 
"  Ovens  ?  They  remind  me  of  my  grand- 
mother's." 

As  we  were  holding  solemn  conference 
over  the  "  ovens,"  two  men,  one  of  them 
in  clerical  dress,  approached  us  from  the 
cloister,  and,  pausing,  asked  if  they  could 
be  of  service  to  us.  It  is  of  no  consequence 
what  they  said  as  to  the  arches.  But  a 
long  and  interesting  talk  followed,  —  one 


CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS  185 

never  to  be  forgotten,  full  of  helpful  sug- 
gestion, and  of  rich  store  of  information 
concerning  the  past  and  present  of  the 
Cathedral. 

At  length  the  younger  man  turned  to 
me  suddenly.  "  Have  you  happened  to 
see  Canon  Green  well's  book  on  Durham 
Cathedral  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  shook  my  head.  "Then  allow  me  to 
show  it  to  you,"  he  said,  and  disappeared 
round  the  corner. 

"There  goes  the  best  verger  in  all  Eng- 
land," exclaimed  the  older  man,  looking 
after  him.  "  I  verily  believe  I  might  say 
the  best  in  all  the  world.  He  knows  more 
of  cathedral  architecture  —  I  don't  speak  of 
Durham  only,"  he  added,  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand,  "  but  of  the  whole  subject  in  all 
its  bearings,  —  than  any  man  of  my  ac- 
quaintance. You  may  have  heard  of  him  ? 
It  is  Mr.  Weatherall." 

A  bell  rang  just  then,  and  with  a  few 
more  cordial  words,  he  bowed  his  adieux 


l86  CHURCH    AND    FORTRESS 

and  departed.  Before  he  was  out  of  sight, 
the  other  man  returned,  bringing  the  book. 

"That  is  Canon  Greenwell,"  he  said, 
nodding  in  the  direction  of  the  receding 
figure,  "the  author  of  this  book.  He  is  a 
remarkable  man.  What  he  does  not  know 
about  this  Cathedral,  and  about  archaeology 
in  general,  is  not  worth  knowing.  You 
will  be  glad  to  have  met  him,  ladies." 

And  we  were.  But  after  a  longer  chat 
with  Mr.  Weatherall,  we  bade"  him  good- 
by  with  an  intensified  regret  that  he  had 
not  been  in  service  during  our  stay  in 
Durham. 


VIII 

THE  VALLEY  OF  DEADLY  NIGHT- 
SHADE WHEREIN  LIES  FURNESS 
ABBEY 

T?VEN  pilgrims  to  Mecca  and  Jerusalem 
may  occasionally  turn  aside  from  the 
beaten  highroad  to  find  rest  in  green  past- 
ures and  beside  still  waters.  But  a  lei- 
surely sojourn  in  the  lovely  Lake  country, 
rich  as  it  is  in  natural  beauty  and  literary 
associations,  only  served  to  intensify  our 
longing  for  ruined  abbeys  and  lofty  cathe- 
dral arches. 

Therefore,  taking  the  coach  from  Amble- 
side  to  Coniston  one  summer  morning,  we 
passed  Windermere  and  Ullswater,  and 
climbed  higher  and  higher  among  the  hills, 
till  the  world  seemed  lying  beneath  our  feet. 
187 


1 88       VALLEY    OF    DEADLY    NIGHTSHADE 

The  exquisite,  lonely  beauty  of  that  drive 
is  something  never  to  be  forgotten.  Swift 
passing  showers,  sudden  bursts  of  sunshine, 
silver  mists,  and  floating  clouds  lent  their 
enchantments  ;  and  once  a  broad  rainbow, 
wonderful  in  brilliant  colouring,  spanned 
the  valley  so  near  us  that  we  seemed  en- 
compassed by  its  glory. 

From  Conistou,  a  few  miles  by  rail 
brought  us  to  Furness  Abbey  in  the  Valley 
of  Nightshade,  —  one  of  the  noblest  and 
most  picturesque  ruins  in  England.  Not  a 
cathedral,  certainly;  yet  surely  in  a  Cathe- 
dral Pilgrimage  may  be  included,  now  and 
then,  the  sacred  shrines  from  which  the 
glory  has  departed. 

At  Furness,  the  exigent,  dominant  pres- 
ent crowds  closely  on  the  past,  disputing 
its  right  of  way.  The  railroad  station  is 
at  the  very  gates.  The  Abbey  Hotel, 
built  from  the  sacred  stones  of  the  old 
Abbey,  stands,  as  is  fitting  if  it  must  be 
there  at  all,  very  near  the  spot  where  the 


WHEREIN    LIES    FURNESS    ABBEY       189 

Guest  Hall  once  spread  wide  its  hospitable 
doors  ;  or  where  it  was  long  supposed  to 
have  stood.  Later  investigation  seems  to 
lead  to  the  supposition  that  it  may  have 
been  the  dwelling  of  the  abbot,  with  his 
private  chapel  in  the  southeast  corner. 

But  however  this  may  be,  the  hotel  is  in 
the  Abbey  grounds ;  and  in  its  various 
apartments  are  sculptured  stones,  —  tablets, 
and  corbels,  and  fantastic  gargoyles  that 
tell  their  own  story  of  ruin  and  mouldering 
decay.  Over  the  fireplace  of  the  coffee- 
room  is  a  crude  bas-relief  of  The  Creation, 
carved  on  a  block  of  red  sandstone  by  one 
whose  very  name  is  forgotten.  The  artist 
chose  a  thrilling  moment.  The  Creator, 
in  flowing  robes,  bends  over  Adam  and 
looks  benignantly  upon  Eve,  who  is  slowly 
emerging  from  her  husband's  side.  Trees, 
some  deer,  and  a  few  other  animals  form 
the  background. 

But  we  have  only  to  step  from  the  inn, 
and  we  are  in  the  precincts  of  the  church. 


IQO   VALLEY  OF  DEADLY  NIGHTSHADE 

Before  us  is  a  low,  round-arched,  Norman 
doorway,  through  which  we  enter  the  north 
transept.  Shall  we  stop  to  talk  or  even 
to  think  of  Transitional  and  Rectilinear 
"periods ,"  — of  Perpendicular,  and  Lancet, 
and  Geometric  ?  Let  us  rather  give  our- 
selves up  to  the  enchantment  of  the  place, 
and  forget  all  else.  Possibly  —  though 
we  may  doubt  this  if  we  choose — the  en- 
chantment is  all  the  greater,  all  the  more 
powerful,  because  the  world  is  so  near  us 
with  the  clanging  of  bells,  the  rush  and 
rumble  of  passing  trains,  the  strange  con- 
trast between  these  ivy-grown,  cloistered 
ruins,  and  the  stir  and  bustle  of  travel  and 
traffic. 

The  great  church  is  roofless,  though  the 
walls  form  a  partial  enclosure  ;  and  wher- 
ever one  looks  there  is  a  bewildering  wealth 
of  broken  capitals  and  fallen  columns, 
fragments  of  noble  pillars,  arched  door- 
ways, and  vaulted  windows  that  are  now 
only  wide,  lofty,  open  spaces,  shorn  of 


WHEREIN    LIES    FURNESS    ABBEY       IQI 

mullion  and  tracery,  through  which  the 
sunshine  streams,  the  soft  air  flows,  and 
song-birds  come  and  go,  building  their 
nests  above  the  reach  of  harm  in  these 
still  coverts.  The  floor  of  the  nave  —  if 
there  be  any  floor  remaining — is  as  com- 
pletely grass-grown  as  any  lawn ;  a  carpet 
of  soft  green  turf.  Everywhere  there  is  a 
riotous  tangle  of  ivy  with  its  long  wreaths 
and  pennants  swaying  in  the  wind ;  and 
everywhere  the  slow,  pale  lichens  creep, 
contrasting  vividly  with  the  red  sandstone 
of  wall  and  arch  and  entablature.  The 
aisles  through  which  the  voice  of  music 
swept  are  now  marked  only  by  the  bases 
'of  the  fallen  columns,  alternately  round 
and  clustered.  Some  of  them  are  broken 
off  even  with  the  ground;  some  are  just 
high  enough  for  comfortable  seats  ;  and, 
now  and  then,  one  stands  at  the  height  of 
a  man's  head.  But  over  them  all  the 
tender  mosses  and  lichens  have  crept, 
healing  wounds  and  hiding  scars,  and  in 


192      VALLEY    OF    DEADLY    NIGHTSHADE 

every  nook  and  crevice  grasses  wave 
and  flowers  bloom. 

The  east  window  of  the  chancel  is  very 
noble, —  a  great  open  space  forty-seven  feet 
high  and  twenty-three  wide,  robbed  now 
of  its  "glass  of  thousand  colourings,"  but 
most  beautiful  and  impressive  in  its  sug- 
gestiveness.  Under  this  window  one  can 
yet  trace  the  foundations  of  the  high 
altar,  and  the  circumambulatory  behind 
it.  At  the  south  is  the  wonderfully  beau- 
tiful sedilia  —  of  five  larger  and  two  smaller 
canopied  niches  most  elaborately  carved, 
each  with  its  enclosed  seat  and  panelled 
sides. 

Here  in  the  chancel  lie  in  rows  the  tomb- 
stones, effigies  and  broken  slabs  that  have 
been  found  from  time  to  time  among  the 
ruins,  and  placed  here  for  safe  keeping. 
Floriated  crosses  abound,  —  the  symbol  in 
many  cases  outlasting  the  personal  inscrip- 
tion. Most  of  these  are  illegible,  but 
among  the  names  that  can  be  deciphered 


WHEREIN    LIES    FURXESS    ABBEY       193 

are  those  of  two  women.     One  inscription 
reads  thus :  — 

"Domina:  Xtina:  Secunda." 
It  may  have  marked  the  grave  of  Chris- 
tiana, wife  of  Ingelgram  de  Gynes  —  or  of 
another  Christiana,  daughter  of  Alexander 
de  Bouth,  who  gave  to  the  Abbey  twenty- 
four  acres  of  land  in  1296.  Only  the 
recording  angel  knows  which  of  the  twain 
may  claim  remembrance  here. 

On  another  slab  just  eleven  letters  have 
resisted  time  and  fate  :  — 

"...  Jacet  Godith  .  .  ." 
This  is  all  that  is  left  of  some  fair  Goditha 
who    was    laid    to    rest  —  doubtless    with 
prayers*and   tears  —  under   these    solemn 
arches  six  centuries  ago. 

In  the  choir  lies  a  recumbent  knight  with 
the  crossed  legs  of  the  crusader.  If  he 
gave  and  received  fierce  blows  in  the  Holy 
Land,  his  monument  has  had  harder,  if  one 
may  judge  from  its  state  of  dilapidation. 


IQ4      VALLEY    OF    DEADLY    NIGHTSHADE 

May  a  suggestion  be  allowed  here  ? 
Ground  plans  of  the  ruined  abbeys  can  be 
procured  in  nearly  every  instance.  By  the 
aid  of  one,  and  with  some  slight  exercise 
of  even  a  not  over-vivid  imagination,  the 
whole  place  can  be  reconstructed.  With- 
out such  reconstruction  one  can  see,  indeed, 
the  pathetic  beauty  of  ruined  arches,  for- 
saken courts  all  open  to  the  sky,  and  col- 
umns ivy-grown  and  lichen-clad.  But  he 
sees  little  else.  With  it,  he  can  bring  back 
the  whole  stately  past. 

He  leaves  the  church  by  the  round-arched 
Norman  doorway  in  the  south  aisle,  and 
finds  himself  in  the  ancient  cloisters  sur- 
rounding the  quadrilateral  cemetery  of  the 
monks.  There  they  once  lay  in  stately, 
silent  rows,  with  their  faces  to  the  east,  while 
through  the  long  arcades  hard  by  echoed  the 
measured  tread  of  their  white-cowled  breth- 
ren pacing  their  daily  and  nightly  rounds. 
They  were  still  part  and  parcel  of  the  great 
Abbey  under  whose  shadow  they  slept. 


WHEREIN   LIES    FURNESS    ABBEY       195 

Through  one  of  three  splendid  arches, 
with  their  broad,  concentric  rings,  and 
dog-tooth  mouldings,  he  passes  into  the 
vestibule  of  the  great  chapter-house,  which 
is  always  the  most  important  of  the  monas- 
tic buildings,  excepting  only  the  church 
itself.  This  of  Furness  must  have  been 
exceedingly  noble  and  imposing,  its  vaulted 
roof  having  been  supported  by  double  rows 
of  slender,  clustered  pillars.  The  windows 
are  many  and  lofty,  and  their  panelling  is 
superb,  the  armorial  rose  repeating  itself 
continually.  Over  the  chapter-house  was 
the  scriptorium,  or  library  ;  and  here,  year 
after  year,  the  learned  monks  of  Furness 
Abbey  wrote  and  thought  and  studied, 
and  then  went  their  way  into  the  undiscov- 
ered country,  leaving  their  illuminated 
missals  and  cumbrous  tomes  behind  them. 
Alas  !  of  all  their  fine  transcriptions,  but 
one  book  remains  on  earth  to-day.  Well 
might  their  ashes  cry,  ' '  Vanitas  vanita- 
tis!" 


196      VALLEY   OF    DEADLY   NIGHTSHADE 

Turning  to  the  south,  we  find  the  re- 
mains of  the  fratry,  or  day  room,  of  the 
brethren,  —  a  most  suggestive  place.  For 
here,  when  they  were  not  working,  or  pray- 
ing, or  doing  penance,  they  lived.  Here 
their  meals  were  served,  and  here  they  met 
for  talk  and  social  intercourse.  Above  it, 
as  above  the  west  cloister,  were  the  dormi- 
tories. 

Beyond  the  small  stream  that  flows 
through  the  Valley  of  Deadly  Nightshade, 
was  the  infirmary,  safely  set  apart  from  in- 
trusion, and  also  from  the  danger  of  spread- 
ing infection.  Surely  these  old  monks 
were  wise  in  their  day  and  generation.  In 
this  quiet  place  the  "  seke  brethren"  of 
Furness  must  have  found  themselves  ad- 
mirably lodged, — their  chief  apartment 
having  had  a  large  fireplace  and  four  great 
windows  on  the  south,  and  two  windows 
and  a  door  on  the  north. 

If  one  looks  long  enough,  he  may  find 
what  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  school- 


WHEREIN    LIES    FURNESS    ABBEY       1 97 

house  for  the  children  of  the  tenantry,  or 
villeins.  The  Abbey  had  broad  lands 
and  many  serfs  within  its  jurisdiction. 
A  stone  bench  runs  round  three  sides  of 
the  schoolroom,  and  the  pedestal  of  the 
master's  seat  still  serves  to  keep  order  in 
the  ghostly  place. 

Not  far  off  are  the  ruins  of  the  old  mill ; 
but  where  is  the  wheat,  and  where  is  the 
miller  ?  Only  the  mill-stream  remains,  as 
young,  as  noisy,  as  vigorous  as  ever. 

There  is  no  need  to  go  into  the  history  of 
Furness  Abbey  here.  It  was  founded  in 
1127,  by  Stephen,  Earl  of  Moreton,  after- 
wards King  of  England.  Its  monks  were 
originally  Benedictines,  and  wore  the  gray 
habit ;  but  under  the  rule,  or  reign,  of  its 
fifth  Abbot,  they  transferred  their  allegiance 
to  the  Cistercian  Order,  to  which  they  be- 
longed until  the  dissolution  of  the  Abbey  by 
Henry  VIII.  Whoever  cares  to  know  more 
of  the  whys  and  wherefores,  let  him  con- 
sult Mr.  Beck's  "  Annales  Furnesienses. " 


198      VALLEY   OF    DEADLY   NIGHTSHADE 

Dissolution  meant  desolation,  and  spolia- 
tion as  well.  Yet  one  wonders  unceas- 
ingly how,  even  when  these  mighty  towers 
and  stupendous  arches  were  left  to  the  bats 
and  owls  and  the  winds  of  heaven,  their 
ruin  could  have  been  so  complete  and  over- 
whelming. 

Somewhere  I  have  seen  it  stated  that 
Furness  was  second  in  size  to  Fountains 
only.  Comparisons  are  invidious,  and  may 
easily  be  unjust.  But  when  one  thinks  of 
size,  it  is  impossible  to  forget  the  immense 
spaces  and  majestic  solitudes  of  Glaston- 
bury.  Perhaps  the  solitude  has  something 
to  do  with  it,  and  the  wide,  weird  silence 
as  well  as  the  vast  length  of  the  church 
itself.  In  the  grass-grown  nave  great  trees 
stand  now  for  columns  and  triforium 
arches.  Yet  one  can  trace  the  foundations 
of  transepts,  choir,  and  chancel,  and  go  on 
and  on,  beyond  the  steps  leading  to  the 
high  altar,  into  the  empty  spaces  of  the 
five  chapels,  the  holy  shrines,  behind  it. 


WHEREIN    LIES    FUKNESS    ABBEY       199 

Standing  here  and  gazing  down  the  un- 
broken stretch  of  six  hundred  feet  to  St. 
Joseph's  Chapel  at  the  extreme  west,  one 
can  only  say  under  one's  breath,  "How 
vast,  how  solemn,  how  awe-inspiring,  is  the 
majestic  desolation  of  Glastonbury ! " 

Who  cares  if  the  Pyramids  are  older? 
The  time  comes  at  last  in  the  life  of  created 
things  when  to  the  heart  and  imagination 
of  man,  as  to  the  high  gods  themselves,  a 
thousand  years  are  as  a  day. 


IX 

THE   TRANSEPT  OF  THE 
MARTYRDOM 

"TVEAX  STANLEY  speaks  of  .five  great 
landings  in  English  History:  the 
landing  of  Julius  Caesar,  which  first  re- 
vealed us  to  the  civilized  world,  and  the 
civilized  world  to  us ;  that  of  Hengist  and 
Horsa,  whence  came  our  Saxon  forefathers ; 
that  of  St.  Augustine,  which  gave  us  our 
Latin  Christianity ;  that  of  William  the 
Conqueror,  which  gave  us  our  Norman 
lineage ;  and  the  landing  of  William  III., 
which  gave  us  our  free  constitution. 

We  may  say  "  us,"  as  he  does  ;  because 
when  these  great  landmarks  were  sot  up, 
England  was  our  England  as  truly  as  she 
is  that  of  the  staunchest  Briton  who  treads 
her  soil  to-day. 

200 


TRANSEPT  OF  THE  MARTYRDOM   2OI 

The  third  of  these  landings  —  that  of 
St.  Augustine  —  was  made  in  the  year  597, 
on  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  not  far  from  what 
is  now  the  city  of  Canterbury.  Augustine 
found  the  ground  somewhat  prepared  for 
him.  Ethelbert,  King  of  the  Saxons,  had 
married  Bertha,  daughter  of  Clovis,  King 
of  Paris.  She  was  a  Christian,  like  the  rest 
of  the  French  royal  family,  and  brought 
her  chaplain,  a  French  Bishop,  with  her 
to  England.  A  little  chapel  "east  of  the 
city,"  as  Bede  tells  us,  was  set  apart  for 
her  use,  though  her  husband  and  his  people 
were  pagans.  This  chapel  stood  on  the 
gentle  slope  now  occupied  by  the  Church 
of  St.  Martin's,  into  whose  venerable  walls 
were  incorporated  the  Roman  bricks  and 
cement  of  its  predecessor. 

The  great  Cathedral  of  Canterbury  is, 
indeed,  the  child  of  little  St.  Martin's,  the 
oldest  Christian  church  in  England.  For 
full  twelve  hundred  years,  St.  Martin's  has 
been  used,  as  it  is  to-day,  as  a  parish 


202  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

church.  The  font  in  which  King  Ethelbert, 
the  first  Christian  convert,  was  baptized  on 
the  feast  of  "Whitsunday,  June  2,  597,  is 
still  in  use ;  and  I  laid  my  hand  upon 
its  sacred  rim  with  a  feeling  of  awe-struck 
reverence.  The  view  from  the  west  porch 
of  St.  Martin's  is  lovely  and  inspiring  be- 
yond belief.  At  our  feet  lie  the  towers 
of  the  great  Abbey  of  St.  Augustine, 
where  Christian  learning  first  took  root 
in  English  soil,  and  where  after  so  many 
centuries  it  still  grows  and  flourishes. 
Farther  on  we  see  the  roofs  and  spires 
of  the  town,  and  still  beyond  soars  the 
magnificent  pile  of  the  Cathedral,  as  glori- 
ous as  the  noblest  temple  of  ancient  Koine. 
For  out  of  the  small  beginnings  of  Augus- 
tine and  Ethelbert  grew  by  slow  gradations, 
the  grandest  cathedral  in  England. 

This  explains  to  us  why  the  head  of 
the  English  Church  is  Archbishop,  — not  of 
London,  or  York,  or  Durham,  —  but  of  Can- 
terbury. Fuller,  in  his  Church  History, 


THE    MARTYRDOM  203 

says,  "Kent  itself  is  but  a  corner  of  Eng- 
land,—  and  Canterbury  is  but  a  corner  of 
that  corner.  Yet  so  long  as  an  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  exists,  so  long  as  the  Church 
of  England  exists,  Canterbury  can  never 
forget  that  it  had  the  glory  of  being  the 
first  cradle  of  English  Christianity." 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  golden  Satur- 
day late  in  July,  1891,  that  we  made  our 
third  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury ;  and  the 
queer  old  streets  smiled  a  welcome  as  we 
drove  to  the  Fountain  Inn,  scarcely  a 
stone's  throw  from  Mercery  Lane,  through 
which  every  one  of  Chaucer's  Pilgrims 
must  have  passed. 

Sunday  was  a  perfect  day,  —  a  day  after 
George  Herbert's  own  heart,  "so  cool,  so 
calm,  so  bright."  What  with  the  devout 
and  simple  morning  service,  and  the  rest 
afterwards,  it  seemed  like  a  foretaste  of 
heaven.  But  when  we  awoke  the  next 
morning  the  rain  was  falling  in  torrents,t 
and  rivers  of  water  were  rushing  through 


2O4  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

the  closely  paved  streets  of  the  quaint  old 
town.  "We  were  in  dismay  ;  for  near  as  we 
were  to  the  Cathedral  it  seemed  impossible 
to  get  there.  After  waiting  till  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  vain  hope  of  clearing  weather, 
we  called  for  a  close  carriage  and  were 
driven  in  state  down  short  Mercery  Lane 
and  through  Christ-Church  gate  into  the 
Cathedral  close.  Stopping  at  the  great 
south  porch,  we  managed  to  rush  under 
cover  before  we  were  really  drenched. 

Once  there,  the  overpowering  grandeur 
of  the  stately  pile  took  full  possession  of  us. 
How  long  we  stood  alone  near  the  west 
door,  looking  up  at  the  forest  of  arches 
over  our  heads,  down  the  long  length  of 
majestic  aisles,  and  at  the  mighty  columns 
on  either  hand,  there  is  no  need  to  say. 
We  were  armed  with  the  Dean's  card,  and 
had  his  full  permission  to  go  wherever  we 
wished,  with  or  without  a  verger,  as  we 
fhose.  As  we  knew  the  way,  we  chose  to 
go  alone.  So  the  gates  of  choir,  aisles,  and 


THE    MARTYRDOM  205 

chapels  were  unlocked,  and  with  a  bow  and 
smile  the  friendly  verger  left  us  to  our  own 
devices. 

The  rain  stood  us  in  good  stead.  The 
vast  building  was  empty  as  a  tomb.  Slowly 
we  walked  up  the  silent,  solitary  nave, 
between  the  lofty  columns  standing  like 
rows  of  sentinels  on  either  side,  until  we 
reached  the  first,  or  west,  transepts,  that 
of  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Thomas  a  Becket 
on  the  north,  that  of  St.  Michael's,  or  the 
Warrior's,  on  the  south,  and  ascended  the 
broad,  massive  flight  of  steps  leading  to 
the  choir. 

The  chief  peculiarity  of  Canterbury,  that 
which  sets  it  apart  from  all  other  cathe- 
drals, is  the  long  succession  of  ascents  by 
which  church  seems  to  be  piled  on  church, 
and  temple  on  temple.  Without  pausing 
at  that  time  to  look  to  right  or  left,  at 
storied  pavement  or  vaulted  chapel,  we 
went  on  through  the  choir,  —  which  is  a 
great  church  in  itself,  indescribably  rich 


206  THE    TRAXSEPT   OF 

in  carvings  and  decoration,  with  columns 
and  arches,  and  traceried  windows  glorious 
with  the  stained  glass  of  the  thirteenth 
century, — into  the  choir  aisles,  from  which 
rise  other  flights  of  broad  stone  stairs  worn 
into  cavernous  hollows  by  the  knees  of 
the  myriads  of  pilgrims  who  for  century 
after  century  brought  hither  their  gifts  and 
oblations. 

"We  stood  now  in  Trinity  Chapel,  with 
the  tessellated  pavement  at  our  feet,  and 
beyond  it  the  vacant  square,  with  its  bor- 
der of  purple  stones,  whereon  the  shrine 
of  St.  Thomas  once  stood.  On  one  side  of 
us  is  the  magnificent  tomb  of  Edward  the 
Black  Prince,  with  his  armour  and  mailed 
gloves  hanging  above  it ;  and  on  the  other 
the  marble  couch  where  Henry  IV.  — 
Shakespeare's  Bolingbroke  —  and  his  wife 
Joan  sleep  their  last  sleep.  But  this  was 
not  the  end;  for  beyond  the  ambulatory 
with  stately  chantries  all  around  it,  we 
entered  the  small .  circular  chapel  called 


THE    MARTYRDOM  2OJ 

the  Corona,  or  Crown.  And  standing 
here  at  the  extreme  eastern  point  of  the 
Cathedral,  we  had  so  gone  on  from  height 
to  height,  from  glory  to  glory,  that  we 
could  look  through  Trinity  Chapel,  over 
the  reredos  and  the  high  altar,  and  through 
the  great  choir  with  its  carven  screen,  on 
and  on,  down  the  whole  length  of  the  ma- 
jestic nave  until  our  gaze  was  stopped  by 
the  glorious  window  that  was  a  blaze  of 
colour  even  on  that  dark  day. 

It  was  a  vision  of  peerless  beauty  and 
magnificence,  so  overpowering  indeed  that 
it  was  a  positive  relief  to  turn  away  from 
it  all,  and  wander  into  the  chapter-house, 
guided  by  the  sound  of  merry  voices  and 
subdued  laughter.  There  we  found  the 
boys  of  King's  School  rehearsing  on  an 
impromptu  stage,  and  preparing  for  a  com- 
ing exhibition.  Boy  nature  is  much  the 
same  the  world  over.  These  lads  were 
not  one  whit  abashed  by  their  surround- 
ings, but  were  having  just  as  "good  times" 


2O8  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

as  boys  in  any  country  schoolhouse  ;  just 
as  good  —  and  no  better. 

We  went  into  the  library  for  a  moment, 
and  into  the  Baptistry,  a  small  circular 
building  with  a  cupola  supported  by  stone 
pillars,  and  some  beautiful  Norman  arches. 
But  we  could  not  linger  long ;  for  the  his- 
toric associations  of  the  place,  as  well  as 
its  surpassing  grandeur,  held  us  in  thrall, 
and  led  us  back  to  the  transept  of  the  Mar- 
tyrdom. To  stand  on  the  spot  where  any 
great  event  has  happened,  to  see  with  one's 
own  eyes  its  locality,  its  environment,  vivi- 
fies history  as  nothing  else  can.  Standing 
on  the  very  pavement  that  had  been  stained 
with  his  blood,  we  tried  to  comprehend  the 
causes  that  led  to  the  murder  of  Thomas  & 
Becket,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  to 
his  subsequent  canonization. 

The  man's  whole  life  was  a  romance,  of 
which  his  birth  was  the  first  chapter.  A 
Saxon  Crusader  named  Gilbert  was  taken 
prisoner  by  the  Saracens.  A  fair  Syrian 


THE    MARTYRDOM  209 

maiden  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  managed 
to  secure  his  liberation.  Whereupon  the 
Crusader, — ingrate  that  he  was, — having 
had  enough  of  wars  and  captivity,  inconti- 
nently sped  back  to  England,  leaving  his 
lady-love  behind  him.  But  —  so  runs  the 
legend  —  she  followed  him,  with  a  love  and 
trust  worthy  of  a  better  cause.  The  fair 
stranger  knew  but  two  English  words, — 
the  name  of  her  lover,  and  that  of  the  city 
of  his  birth  ;  but  by  the  repetition  of  *«  Gil- 
bert, Gilbert,"  "London,  London,"  aided  by 
her  beauty  and  her  tears,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  sale  of  her  jewels,  she  at  length  made 
her  way  to  him  over  countless  leagues  of 
land  and  sea.  It  looks  very  much  as  if 
Monsieur  Gilbert  was  a  light  o'  love,  and 
meant  that  his  escape  from  Syria  sho-uld  put 
an  end  to  this  entanglement.  But  be  that  as 
it  may,  he  was  at  least  man  enough  to  be  won 
by  the  innocent  faith  that  had  followed  him 
so  far.  She  became  his  wife ;  and  Thomas 
a  Becket  was  a  child  of  this  marriage. 


210  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

Educated  in  the  schools  of  Oxford,  Lon- 
don, and  Paris,  the  boy  grew  and  throve ; 
and  at  length  in  his  early  manhood  made 
his  appearance  at  the  court  of  Henry  II. 
Becoming  at  once  a  favourite  with  the 
king,  he  rose  rapidly  until  in  1158  he  was 
made  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England, 
and  preceptor  to  the  young  Prince  Henry. 
Fabulous  stories  are  told  of  his  wealth,  his 
splendour,  the  magnificence  of  his  palace, 
his  costly  apparel,  his  stately  equipages. 
Sent  once  on  an  embassy  to  France,  the 
populace  cried  out,  "How  splendid  must 
the  King  of  England  be,  when  this  man  is 
only  the  Chancellor!"  He  became  the 
most  intimate  associate,  the  most  familiar 
friend  of  the  king,  the  companion  of  his 
private  hours. 

But  a  storm  was  brewing  between  church 
and  state.  Each  was  straggling  for  the  su- 
premacy. Henry  and  the  Barons  were  on 
one  side,  the  Primates,  backed  by  the  ul- 
tramontane power  of  the  Pope,  were  on 


THE    MARTYRDOM  211 

the  other.  It  is  easy,  even  at  this  far  day, 
to  see  how  Henry  must  have  reasoned.  "  I 
will  make  my  friend  Thomas  a  Becket 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  head  of  the 
English  Church.  Devoted  to  me  as  he  is, 
he  will  uphold  my  power  against  the  power 
of  the  clergy.  He  will  sustain  the  King  at 
all  hazards."  But  "the  best  laid  schemes 
of  mice  and  men  gang  aft  agley."  Whether 
it  was  through  some  secret  grudge  against 
the  king,  the  determination  of  a  proud, 
ambitious  man  to  shine  in  a  new  field,  and 
to  be  greater  and  more  powerful  as  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  than  he  had  been  as 
High  Chancellor  of  England,  —  or  whether 
the  man's  better  nature  was  aroused,  and 
the  spiritual  side  of  him  came  to  the  front 
in  the  new  atmosphere  that  environed  him, 
no  mortal  can  ever  know  beyond  a  perad- 
venture.  Certain  it  is  that  he  completely 
altered  his  manner  of  life.  He  exchanged 
the  silken  robes  of  the  courtier  for  the  hair 
shirt  of  the  austere  prelate ;  he  ate  coarse 


212  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

food,  and  submitted  to  severe  penances. 
His  brilliant  followers  were  cast  off,  and 
instead  of  doing  the  king's  bidding  he  be- 
came the  mighty  leader  of  the  hostile  party. 
This  went  on  for  many  years,  during  six 
of  which  Becket  was  in  a  sort  of  honour- 
able exile  at  the  court  of  France.  Then 
there  was  a  pretence  at  reconciliation,  and 
he  returned  to  England  amidst  the  accla- 
mations of  the  people.  The  Cathedral  was 
superb  in  silken  hangings,  —  glorious  as  an 
army  with  banners.  Magnificent  banquets 
were  made  ready;  organs  pealed,  bells 
rung,  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  Arch- 
bishop preached  in  the  chapter-house  from 
the  text,  "For  here  have  we  no  continu- 
ing city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come."  The 
truce  was  an  armed  truce,  however,  and 
proved  of  short  duration.  New  causes  of 
difficulty  sprung  up,  and  the  bitter  feud 
grew  sharper  and  sharper.  Henry,  to 
strengthen  his  own  position,  had  caused 
his  young  son,  Prince  Henry,  to  be 


THE    MARTYRDOM  213 

crowned  king  —  not  as  his  successor,  but 
as  his  colleague,  —  crowned  by  the  Arch- 
bishop of  York.  This  Becket  regarded  as 
a  direct  infringement  of  his  vested  rights ; 
for  from  the  time  of  Augustine  until  the 
present,  the  right  of  crowning  the  English 
sovereigns  has  been  held  by  the  See  of 
Canterbury.  Outraged  and  indignant,  he 
procured  from  the  Pope  letters  of  suspen- 
sion and  excommunication  against  the 
three  prelates  who  had  taken  part  in  the 
coronation. 

And  now  it  was  war  to  the  knife.  The 
King  was  furious;  and  in  his  rage  was 
heard  to  cry  out,  "Who  will  deliver  me 
from  the  power  of  this  man  ?  " 

Four  knights  held  their  breath  at  this, 
and  looked  at  each  other  askance.  They 
were  Eeginald  Fitzurse,  Hugh  de  More- 
ville,  William  de  Tracy,  and  Eichard  le 
Bret.  They  held  quick  counsel  together 
and  galloped  away  in  the  darkness.  The 
next  day  they  arrived  at  Saltwood  Castle, 


214  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

near  Canterbury,  then  held  by  Becket's 
chief  enemy,  Dan  Randolph  of  Broc. 

It  was  the  29th  of  December,  1170. 
Omens  and  auguries  were  in  the  very  air. 
The  Archbishop  himself  was  pale  and  dis- 
traught, seeming  to  be  oppressed  with  a  dread 
of  coming  evil.  Before  dawn  he  aston- 
ished the  clergy  of  his  bed-chamber  by  ask- 
ing whether  it  would  be  possible  for  one 
to  reach  Sandwich,  the  nearest  seaport,  be- 
fore daylight.  He  was  answered,  "  Yes  !  " 

"Then  let  any  one  escape  who  wishes," 
he  said. 

He  attended  mass  as  usual  that  day.  He 
went  about  all  his  customary  duties  at  the 
altar,  in  the  chapter-house,  at  the  con- 
fessional, in  the  infirmary,  and  hospitium. 
Dinner  was  over ;  the  concluding  hymn,  or 
"  grace,"  was  chanted,  and  Becket  had  gone 
to  his  private  room  with  a  few  friends. 

The  outer  court  was  filled  with  the  crowd 
of  beggars  who  came  daily  to  the  palace  for 
the  broken  meats  that  were  always  lavishly 


THE    MARTYRDOM  215 

distributed  by  the  servitors.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  four  knights,  with  twelve  men- 
at-arms,  dismounted  before  the  house,  and 
finding  all  doors  open  strode  in  without  op- 
position. The  Seneschal,  or  High  Steward," 
William  Fitz-Nigel  recognized  them, — for 
they  were  all  gentlemen  of  the  court ;  yet 
it  seems  to  have  been  with  secret  pertur- 
bation that  he  led  them  into  his  master's 
chamber,  saying,  "My  Lord,  here  are  four 
knights  from  King  Henry  wishing  to  speak 
with  you." 

"  Let  them  come  in,"  said  Becket  quietly. 

It  must  have  been  a  thrilling  moment, 
even  for  those  would-be  murderers.  They 
had  known  Becket  in  his  pride  of  place  in 
the  days  of  his  stately  splendour  as  Chancel- 
lor and  chief  favourite.  He  was  still  in  the 
prime  of  life,  tall,  majestic,  in  the  full  vigour 
of  his  strength,  with  large,  piercing  eyes  that 
did  not  waver  as  he  turned  slowly  from  con- 
versation with  the  monk  nearest  him,  and 
looked  upon  his  unbidden  guests. 


2l6  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

A  stormy  interview  followed,  in  which 
charges  and  counter-charges  were  hurled 
back  and  forth  by  both  sides.  It  is  not 
possible  to  read  the  story  of  that  night  as  it 
is  narrated  by  a  dozen  old  chronicles  without 
feeling  that  Thomas  a  Becket  was  loyal  to 
the  King,  while  conscientious  in  his  oppo- 
sition to  the  King's  attitude  towards  the 
church.  "  I  will  give  to  the  King,"  he  cried, 
"  the  things  that  are  the  King's  ;  but  to  God 
the  things  that  are  God's  ! " 

They  charged  him  with  the  desire  to  de- 
stroy the  crown,  to  take  it  from  the  conse- 
crated brow  of  him  who  wore  it,  referring 
doubtless  to  young  Henry,  rather  than  his 
father.  "Rather  than  take  away  his 
crown,  I  would  give  him  three  or  four 
crowns,"  answered  Becket ;  and  as  one  of 
his  causes  for  complaint  was  that  he  had 
not  been  allowed  to  crown  the  young  king, 
there  seems  to  be  both  reason  and  justice 
in  the  rejoinder.  They  accused  him  of 
treason,  and  he  denied  it. 


THE   MARTYRDOM  217 

Some  feeling  of  deference,  or  reverence  for 
the  holy  precincts,  led  the  knights  to  leave 
their  swords  without,  and  to  cover  their 
coats-of-mail  with  the  long  outer  cloak  of 
common  life.  Now  raising  the  battle-cry, 
they  rushed  to  a  great  sycamore-tree  in  the 
garden,  where  they  threw  off  their  cloaks, 
girt  on  their  swords,  and  appeared  in  full  ar- 
mour. Meanwhile  they  had  closed  the  gates 
to  cut  off  communication  with  the  town. 

In  the  palace  a  hasty  council  was  being 
held.  John  of  Salisbury  besought  the  Arch- 
bishop to  be  moderate,  and  submit  for  the 
present.  "Be  ruled  by  your  friends,"  he 
entreated,  "for  these  men  are  only  seeking 
occasion  to  kill  you." 

"  Be  it  so,"  answered  Becket ;  u  I  am  pre- 
pared to  die." 

"  But  we  are  not,  even  if  you  are,"  cried 
Salisbury.  "  We  are  not  ready  to  die  with- 
out cause.  We  are  sinners  ! " 

But  the  Archbishop's  sole  reply  was, 
"Let  the  will  of  God  be  done." 


2l8  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

Was  it  obstinacy?  the  pride  that  would 
not  yield?  Or  was  it  the  meek  submission 
of  the  martyr  ?  God  only  knows  ! 

Here  one  of  the  monks  rushed  in,  panic- 
stricken,  to  say  that  the  knights  were  arm- 
ing ;  and  almost  on  the  instant  the  crash  of 
timbers,  the  fall  of  a  partition,  and  the  loud 
tumult  of  assault,  announced  that  deadly 
peril  was  close  at  hand.  Most  of  the  monks 
fled,  taking  refuge  in  the  crypt  and  the  dim 
recesses  of  roof  and  triforiurn.  Only  a 
small  body  of  faithful  friends  remained. 
They  entreated  him  to  take  refuge  in  the 
Cathedral.  When  he  refused,  they  partly 
led,  partly  dragged,  him  thither  through  the 
long  cloisters  that  are  so  quiet  and  beautiful 
to-day.  But  he  resisted  with  all  his  might. 

Finally,  by  the  argument  that  it  was  near- 
ly time  for  the  vesper  service,  they  prevailed 
upon  him  —  not  to  hasten  his  steps  —  but  to 
proceed  in  slow  and  stately  procession,  with 
his  cross-bearer  before  him,  toward  the 
sacred  edifice. 


THE    MARTYRDOM  219 

But  his  friends  had  but  one  thought  — 
to  reach  the  church  door  with  their  master. 
Surely  he  would  be  safe  there  !  Who  would 
be  sacrilegious  enough  to  strike  the  priest 
before  the  altar  ? 

The  tumult  without  increased.  The  clam- 
our and  the  clash  of  arms  grew  nearer  and 
nearer.  They  seized  him  again  with  frantic 
eagerness.  Some  pulled  from  before,  some 
pushed  from  behind ;  and  at  length  they 
reached  the  door  leading  from  the  cloisters 
into  the  lower  north  transept,  where  we  are 
now  standing— the  spot  that  was  to  be 
known  henceforth  and  forever  as  the  Tran- 
sept of  the  Martyrdom.  Those  in  advance 
entered,  and  the  door  was  barred  upon  the 
frightened  and  excited  crowd  behind. 

There  was  shouting  and  clamouring,  and 
fierce  beating  upon  the  oaken  portal.  Then 
the  Archbishop  sprang  forward  in  his  wrath 
and  flung  it  wide  open,  crying  out  that  the 
church  of  God  was  neither  fortress  nor 
castle,  and  should  be  open  to  all  comers. 


22O  THE    TRAXSEPT    OF 

Now  folding  his  arras,  he  waited,  leaning 
against  a  pillar,  while  his  eyes  shot  fire  in 
the  darkness.  Once  more  his  loyal  adhe- 
rents urged  him  to  flee,  if  only  to  the  high 
altar ;  and  he  did  take  a  few  steps  towards  it. 
But  the  knights  and  their  men-at-arms,  who 
had  been  checked  by  the  closed  door,  rushed 
in  when  it  was  unexpectedly  thrown  open 
by  the  hand  of  their  victim  himself. 

One  of  them  cried  out,  "  Where  is  the 
traitor  ?  "  — and  no  voice  answered. 

"Where  is  the  Archbishop?"  cried  an- 
other. 

"Here  is  the  Archbishop,  and  the  priest 
of  God,  but  no  traitor,  Reginald  Fitzurse," 
responded  a  ringing  voice  from  out  the 
deepening  shadows  ;  and  down  from  the 
fourth  step  of  the  choir  stairs  Thomas  a 
Becket,  in  his  white  rochet,  and  with  a 
cloak  and  hood  thrown  over  his  shoulders, 
descended  into  the  fast-darkening  transept, 
and  suddenly  confronted  the  men  who  were 
thirsting  for  his  blood. 


Tp?AN5EIPT      DF      THE      1^1  ARTYRD  D  M  . 


THE    MARTYRDOM  221 

Let  us  draw  the  veil  here.  There  was 
a  fierce,  tumultuous  struggle ;  there  were 
curses  and  blows.  Then  a  faint  voice  cried 
"Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord,  I  commend  my 
spirit"  — and  all  was  over. 

The  murderers  rushed  from  the  church 
and  through  the  cloisters  to  the  palace, 
which  they  plundered.  Meanwhile  friends 
and  adherents  had  fled  away  ;  and  the  great 
Cathedral  was  left  to  the  weird,  stealthy 
shadows  creeping  from  pillar  to  pillar,  and 
the  white  face  of  him  who  had  so  lately 
ministered  at  its  altars. 

At  midnight  the  weeping  monks  stole 
back  one  by  one,  lifted  the  dead  body  from 
the  pavement  where  it  lay,  and  bore  it  up 
the  stairs  he  had  descended  to  his  death, 
and  through  the  "glorious  Choir  of  Conrad" 
to  the  Chancel.  There  they  laid  it  down  ; 
and  all  night  long  the  ever-burning  lamp 
shone  upon  the  breathless  sleeper. 

The  next  day  they  carried  the  body  silent- 
ly to  the  Crypt, —and  laid  it  in  a  tomb 


222  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

behind  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin  in  the  Chapel 
of  Our  Lady  Undercroft.  No  mass  was 
said,  no  audible  prayer  was  breathed.  The 
church  had  been  profaned  —  desecrated; 
and  from  that  moment  for  a  full  year  nor 
bell  was  rung  nor  service  chanted.  The 
altars  were  stripped,  the  crucifixes  veiled, 
the  walls  divested  of  their  hangings.  All 
was  desolation. 

Then  legates  from  Rome  came  to  investi- 
gate the  causes  of  the  assassination.  Pop- 
ular excitement  and  indignation  reached 
the  highest  pitch ;  and  within  three  years 
the  murdered  archbishop  was  canonized,  — 
the  twenty-ninth  of  December  being  set 
apart  as  the  Feast  of  St.  Thomas  of 
Canterbury. 

Let  us  go  back  to  the  King.  When  he 
heard  of  the  murder,  he  rolled  himself  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  gave  way  to 
frantic  lamentations,  calling  God  to  witness 
that  he  was  not  responsible  for  the  deed 
that  had  been  done  in  his  name.  Passion- 


THE    MARTYRDOM  223 

ate  in  the  extreme,  and  easily  wrought  up 
to  the  display  of  great  fury,  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  he  had  never  intended,  or  ex- 
pected, to  be  taken  literally  at  his  word. 
But  the  whole  Christian  world  denounced 
him ;  and  cries  for  vengeance  reached  the 
ears  of  the  Pope.  The  terrible  fear  of 
excommunication  —  a  fear  that  the  nine- 
teenth century  finds  it  hard  to  understand 
—  took  possession  of  both  king  and  people. 
Misfortune  after  misfortune  followed ;  dis- 
asters on  sea  and  land ;  and  with  the  re- 
bellion of  his  sons,  the  path  of  Henry  II. 
grew  darker  and  steeper. 

He  had  done  penance  often,  but  not  at 
Canterbury.  Now  he  resolved  to  go  thither 
and  abase  himself  at  the  tomb  of  him  whom 
he  had  first  loved  as  a  friend,  and  then 
hated  as  an  enemy.  On  penitential  diet 
of  bread  and  water,  he  started  on  his 
pilgrimage,  approaching  the  sacred  city  by 
a  road  over  the  Surrey  hills  of  which  some 
traces  still  remain.  There,  leaping  from 


224  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

his  horse,  he  went  on  foot  along  the  miry 
road  till  he  reached  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  There  he  stripped  off  his  kingly 
dress,  and  amidst  a  wondering  crowd  who 
followed  his  footsteps,  barefooted,  and  with 
no  other  covering  than  a  woollen  shirt  and 
a  coarse  cloak,  he  walked  through  the  streets 
of  the  city  to  the  Cathedral.  The  fierce  rain 
pelted  his  uncovered  head  ;  the  rough  stones 
of  the  pavement  were  stained  with  blood- 
drops  from  his  feet.  He  knelt  in  the  porch  ; 
then  passed  on  to  the  scene  of  the  murder. 
There  he  kissed  the  stones  on  which  the 
archbishop  had  fallen,  the  pillar  against 
which  he  had  leaned,  and  made  his  confes- 
sion. Thence  he  was  led  to  the  crypt, 
where  he  knelt  long  in  prayer.  Bishop 
Foliat  addressed  the  bystanders  in  the 
King's  name,  expressing  his  penitence  for 
the  rash  words  that  had  unwittingly  caused 
the  murder,  and  his  desire  to  make  all  pos- 
sible amends.  But  before  absolution  and 
the  kiss  of  peace  were  granted,  His  Majesty 


THE    MARTYRDOM  225 

removed  his  cloak,  knelt  again  at  the  tomb, 
and  there  was  scourged  by  bishop  and 
abbot  and  eighty  monks,  receiving  three 
strokes  from  each.  Perhaps  one  may  be 
pardoned  for  doubting  whether  the  blows 
were  very  severe  ;  but  the  humiliation  may 
be  taken  for  granted  in  any  case.  All 
night  the  king  remained  alone  in  the  crypt, 
leaning  against  one  of  the  massive  columns, 
or  kneeling  at  the  tomb. 

Thus  ended  the  great  tragedy.  We  may 
not  all  be  able  to  regard  Thomas  a  Becket 
as  a  saint  and  a  martyr,  or  believe  in  the 
miracles  attributed  to  his  relics.  But  he 
was  at  least  an  able,  honest,  and  courageous 
man ;  and,  there  is  all  reason  to  believe,  con- 
scientious according  to  the  light  of  his  day 
and  generation.  For  fifty  years  his  body 
lay  in  the  dim  recesses  of  the  crypt. 
Then  it  was  removed  with  great  pomp 
and  stately  ceremonials  to  the  magnificent 
shrine  prepared  for  it  in  Trinity  Chapel. 
Magnificent  indeed  it  was,  —  all  ablaze  with 
Q 


226  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

gold  and  encrusted  with  precious  stones, 
—  pearls,  sapphires,  diamonds,  rubies,  and 
emeralds.  This  was  in  the  reign  of  Henry 
III.  From  this  time  on  till  that  of  Henry 
VIII.,  an  innumerable  host  of  pilgrims  knelt 
before  it  in  wondering  awe,  offering  there 
their  alms  and  their  supplications  to  the 
Most  High  God.  The  very  names  of  the 
mighty  men  of  old  whose  feet  and  knees 
helped  to  wear  the  hollows  in  these  haunted 
stones  would  make  a  bead-roll  that  would 
encompass  the  earth. 

The  shrine  is  there  no  longer.  Its  gold 
has  gone  to  swell  the  coffers  of  kings  and 
princes  ;  its  jewels  adorn  the  diadems  of 
royal  ladies  and  stately  dames.  The  rapac- 
ity of  Henry  VIII.  had  quite  as  much  to 
do  with  this  as  had  the  approaching  tread 
of  the  Reformation.  Absurd  as  it  may 
seem,  on  the  24th  of  April,  1538,  Henry 
issued  a  summons  to  a  dead  man,  ordering 
Thomas  a  Becket,  "  Sometime  Bishop  of 
Canterbury,"  to  appear  in  court  and  an- 


THE   MARTYRDOM  227 

swer  to  the  charge  of  high  treason  against 
Henry  II. ,  —  treason  committed,  if  at 
all,  almost  five  centuries  before !  This 
summons  was  read  by  the  side  of  the 
shrine.  Thirty  days  were  allowed  for  his 
appearance.  When  at  the  expiration  of 
that  time  the  dead  man  did  not  stir  in  his 
winding-sheet,  and  neither  canopy  nor  iron 
clasps  gave  token  of  upheaval,  the  case  was 
formally  argued  at  Westminster,  —  by  the 
Attorney-General  on  the  part  of  Henry  II., 
and  on  the  part  of  the  accused  by  an  advo- 
cate appointed  by  the  court.  For,  be  it 
understood,  all  these  queer  proceedings 
were  conducted  according  to  due  course  of 
law  !  On  the  10th  of  June,  1538,  sentence 
was  pronounced  against  the  dead  arch- 
bishop ;  his  bones  were  ordained  to  be  pub- 
licly burned,  and  the  costly  shrine  and 
other  offerings  forfeited  to  the  crown. 
"  Hinc  illae  lachrymae  ! " 

Perhaps  it  is  but  fair  to  say  that  modern 
iconoclasts  attempt  to  overthrow  this  fine 


228  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

story.  But  it  was  believed  at  the  time  all 
over  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  is  nar- 
rated by  the  old  chroniclers,  dates  and  all, 
— notably  by  Sanders,  Pollini,  and  Pope 
Paul  III. 

We  have  lingered  long  in  this  northwest 
transept,  enthralled  by  its  countless  asso- 
ciations, of  which  this  is  but  one.  Let  us 
go  through  this  narrow  doorway,  and  down 
this  flight  of  stairs  into  the  crypt  —  but  not 
alone,  for  bere  we  need  guidance, —  and 
behold  its  massive  columns,  carved  and 
foliated,  its  vast  arches,  its  long,  receding, 
far-reaching  vistas.  It  is  dark  and  sombre 
now.  The  accumulating  dust  and  spoil  of 
many  centuries  have  encroached  upon  the 
height  of  the  pillars,  often  completely 
hiding  their  enormous  bases.  But  here  at 
the  eastern  end  was  once  the  glorious 
chapel  of  Our  Lady  Undercroft,  studded 
with  gold  and  jewels  to  a  degree  that,  so  the 
old  historians  declare,  ' '  quite  dazzled  the 
eyes  with  their  overpowering  splendour." 


THE    MARTYRDOM  22Q 

Even  now  you  can  see  the  empty  niche 
where  the  silver  statue  of  the  Virgin  once 
smiled  down  upon  kneeling  worshippers. 

It  was  here,  in  the  chancel  of  this  chapel 
in  the  crypt,  that  Edward  the  Black  Prince 
wished  and  expected  to  be  buried.  Stand- 
ing on  the  very  spot,  we  listened  to  a  long 
story  from  the  lips  of  a  local  antiquarian,  — 
the  story  of  Edward's  love  for  his  cousin, 
the  "Fair  Maid  of  Kent,"  and  of  the  ob- 
stacles that  came  between  them.  The  Pope 
at  length  granted  them  permission  to  marry, 
on  condition  that  the  Prince  should  build 
and  endow  "  a  fair  Chantry  "  in  the  crypt, 
where  two  priests  should  pray  for  his 
soul.  It  has  gone  to  decay,  though  the 
foundation  of  the  two  altars  can  still  be 
traced,  and  the  groined  vaultings  on  which 
were  emblazoned  his  arms  and  those  of  his 
father.  But  the  endowment  still  holds 
good,  and  Canterbury  receives  the  revenue 
to  this  day. 

"But  why  was  the  Prince  not  buried 


230  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

here  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Why  was  he  laid  up- 
stairs in  Trinity  Chapel  ?  " 

The  old  antiquarian  looked  at  me  out  of 
the  corners  of  his  eyes.  "  Why  was  not 
Charles  Dickens  buried  where  he  expected 
to  be,  in  Rochester?"  he  retorted.  "Be- 
cause the  people  of  England  demanded  for 
him  a  grave  in  Westminster.  Just  so  in 
this  case.  The  people  demanded  a  nobler 
burial-place  for  their  idol." 

The  crypt  is  full  of  wonders.  Sometimes, 
if  you  are  a  woman,  you  are  tempted  to  cry, 
and  you  wander  about  with  a  strange  lump 
in  your  throat.  Sometimes,  whether  you 
are  man  or  woman,  you  are  tempted  to 
laugh.  Here  lies  the  sculptured  effigy,  her 
hands  clasped  in  prayer,  of  an  heiress 
who,  five  hundred  years  ago,  laughed  and 
danced,  smiled  and  sighed,  like  any  other 
maiden.  She  loved  this  old  crypt,  and 
lavished  her  fortune  upon  it.  "  Look  here," 
said  our  antiquarian,  striking  a  match  and 
lighting  a  taper,  for  there  is  not  much  day- 


THE  MARTYRDOM          23! 

light  in  those  cavernous  recesses.  "  I  want 
to  show  you  something.  Look  at  that  young 
lady's  costume  !  " 

I  bent  over  the  marble  figure,  while  our 
guide  held  the  taper  near,  and  saw  what 
seemed  the  very  model  of  a  modern  "jer- 
sey," buttons  and  all,  and  a  kilted  skirt, 
lying  in  long,  close  pleats  from  the  girdle 
to  the  upturned  feet. 

Vainly  we  strove  to  imagine,  in  that  half 
darkness,  what  the  effect  must  have  been 
when  all  the  vast  spaces  were  aglow  with 
light  from  the  great  chandeliers  suspended 
from  the  roof,  when  there  was  glow  and 
colour  everywhere,  and  the  jewelled  shrines 
shone,  as  Erasmus  says,  ' '  with  a  radiance 
surpassing  that  of  day." 

In  these  storied  places  one  cannot  re- 
member, or  even  take  in,  everything.  So 
it  was  with  Thomas  a  Becket  and  Edward 
the  Black  Prince  we  chose  to  linger  longest. 
We  went  up  to  Trinity  Chapel  again,  and 
in  swift  review  pageant  after  pageant  passed 


232  THE    TRANSEPT    OF 

before  our  mental  vision.  There  is  much 
that  is  mythical  in  this  world,  much  that 
must  be  taken  with  allowance.  But  here 
there  was,  there  could  be,  no  mistake.  It 
is  as  certain  that  the  hero  of  Cressy  and 
Poitiers  lies  in  the  splendidly  sombre  tomb 
before  us,  as  that  George  Washington  is 
buried  at  Mount  Vernon.  There  he  lies  — 
a  grand  figure  in  perfect  bronze,  wearing 
armour  of  chain  mail,  his  head  resting  on 
his  helmet,  the  spurs  he  won  at  Cressy  on 
his  feet,  and  his  hands  folded  in  their  last 
long  prayer.  High  above  hang  the  surcoat, 
gauntlets,  shield,  and  crest  of  the  Prince. 
An  empty  scabbard  swings  idly.  The  sword 
was  carried  away  by  Oliver  Cromwell,  who, 
however,  mercifully  forbade  his  soldiers  to 
mutilate,  or  disfigure,  the  bronze  effigy. 
Around  the  tomb,  which  was  formerly  hung 
with  costly  tapestry  suspended  from  hooks 
that  still  remain,  are  the  ostrich  feathers 
in  groups  of  three,  with  the  famous  motto, 
"  I  serve,"  and  a  word  signifying  "  high 


TDMB  OF  THE  BLACK 


THE    MARTYRDOM  233 

spirit,"  which  Edward  sometimes  used  as 
a  signature.  High  spirit,  and  loyal  ser- 
vice !  His  whole  life  illustrated  the  words. 
A  mere  boy  of  sixteen,  who  kept  the 
lonely  vigil  of  arms  but  a  month  ago,  he 
rushes  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  at  Cressy. 
With  a  complexion  as  fair  as  the  day, 
and  golden  hair  streaming  in  the  wind, 
he  is  a  g:  ^ant  young  figure  truly,  a  "  shin- 
ing mark,"  in  the  black  armour  his  father 
has  ordered  for  him.  The  King  sees  his 
great  danger  but  forbears  to  interfere. 
"  Let  the  child  win  his  spurs,"  he  cries, 
"and  let  the  day  be  his." 

Far  into  the  summer  night  the  battle 
rages  ;  and  when  it  is  over,  by  glare  of 
firelight  and  torchlight  the  father  embraces 
the  boy  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  proud 
army,  saying,  "Right  royally  hast  thou 
borne  thyself,  my  true  son,  my  sweet  son. 
Thou  art  worthy  to  wear  the  crown  which 
shall  be  thine  one  day." 

Ten  years  later  we  behold  him  at  Poitiers, 


234      TRANSEPT    OF    THE    MARTYRDOM 

now  a  young  man  of  twenty-six,  and  again 
splendidly  victorious.  But  with  the  modesty 
and  chivalric  tenderness  of  a  great  nature, 
he  extends  the  utmost  courtesy  to  his  fallen 
foe,  King  John  of  France,  serving  him  at 
table,  comforting  him  with  noble  praise, 
and  refusing  to  be  seated  in  his  presence. 

Two  sayings  of  the  Black  Prince  have 
come  down  to  us  through  the  centuries,  and 
have  become  part  of  our  English  heritage  : 
"God  being  my  help,  I  must  fight  on  as 
best  I  can;"  and  again,  the  battle  being 
inevitable,  "  God  defend  the  right ! " 


X 

AT  LICHFIELD 

4  S  centuries  ago  the  stately  towers  of 
"^  Furness  Abbey  guarded  the  Valley  of 
Nightshade,  so  do  the  three  spires  of  Lich- 
field  Cathedral  keep  watch  and  ward  to-day 
over  the  Field  of  the  Dead  Bodies,  "  Cada- 
verum  Campus."  Tradition,  countenanced 
by  the  great  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  says  that 
the  town  derives  its  name  from  the  massa- 
cre of  one  thousand  Christian  converts  by 
pagan  Romans  under  Diocletian.  Other 
authorities  allow  the  one  thousand  to 
dwindle  to  two,  and  maintain  that  it  was 
named  in  memory  of  two  young  brothers, 
sons  of  a  certain  king  of  Mercia,  who,  hav- 
ing been  converted  by  St.  Chad,  afterwards 
suffered  martyrdom.  If  one  must  believe 
either  legend,  it  perhaps  requires  less  credu- 
lity to  credit  the  latter. 
335 


236  AT   LICHFIELD 

But  vague  tradition  yields  to  historic  cer- 
tainty when,  in  669,  St.  Chad — or  Ceadda  — 
as  fourth  bishop  of  the  diocese,  fixed  his 
seat  here,  and  the  town  became  a  cathedral 
city.  He  early  learned  obedience,  this 
patron  saint  of  Lichfield.  In  666  he  had 
been  consecrated  Bishop  of  Northuinbria, 
by  Wiui  of  Winchester.  On  his  entrance 
upon  the  work  of  the  bishopric  he  set  him- 
self diligently  to  the  doing  of  every  episco- 
pal duty,  walking  through  his  vast  diocese 
after  what  he  fancied  was  the  custom  of  the 
apostles,  and  utterly  refusing  to  ride  from 
place  to  place.  Three  years  afterward, 
Theodoras  of  Canterbury  pronounced  the 
consecration  of  Ceadda  faulty  in  some  mat- 
ter of  technic  ;  and,  without  demur,  the  lat- 
ter returned  meekly,  shorn  of  his  mitre, 
to  the  monastery  whence  he  came.  The- 
odorus,  however,  finding  him  "a  holy  man, 
indefatigable  in  preaching,"  thought  him 
material  too  good  to  be  wasted,  and  conse- 
crated him  again,  —  this  time  effectually,  — 


AT    LICHFIELD  237 

and  to  the  bishopric  of  Mercia.  Moreover, 
he  attempted  to  put  an  end  to  the  walking 
by  ordering  the  missionary  Bishop  to  pro- 
vide himself  with  a  good  steed,  and  to  use 
it.  How  strictly  this  injunction  was  fol- 
lowed, it  is  not  for  us  to  say.  One  can 
hardly  think  St.  Chad  had  much  need  of  a 
horse,  or  that  he  had  a  place  within  to 
stable  him.  Innumerable  legends  are  told 
of  the  Hermit-Bishop  and  his  wonderful 
deeds ;  of  the  well-spring,  in  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  pray  naked,  and  in  which  he 
sometimes  baptized  his  converts ;  of  the 
milk-white  doe  that  fed  him  in  his  extrem- 
ity ;  of  the  nightingales  that  ceased  singing 
lest  they  should  disturb  his  prayerful  medi- 
tations ;  and  of  the  angelic  ministrations 
that  soothed  his  death-pangs.  But  for  none 
of  these  is  he  himself  accountable.  They 
sprang  up  after  his  death,  like  weeds  in  the 
rich  soil  of  his  sanctity.  Sainthood  has  its 
drawbacks,  one  must  believe,  even  though  it 
is  gravely  asserted  that  a  lunatic,  sleeping 


238  AT    LICHFIELD 

by  chance  on  St.  Chad's  tomb,  was  imme- 
diately restored  to  perfect  sanity.  The 
Venerable  Bede  takes  pains  to  assure  the 
suffering  world  that  if  a  handful  of  dust 
from  this  sacred  grave  be  mixed  with  water 
and  given  to  the  sick  to  drink,  they  will 
"presently  be  eased  from  their  infirmities 
and  restored  to  health." 

But  the  little  early  church  of  St.  Chad 
was  only  the  forerunner  of  the  Cathedral  of 
to-day.  It  was  not  even  on  the  same  site, 
but  stood  at  some  distance  from  it,  on  what 
is  called  the  Cathedral  Pool,  a  lovely  little 
lake  said  to  be  wholly  of  man's  making. 
It  is  not  easy  to  believe  this,  credulous  trav- 
ellers though  we  may  be.  But  unquestion- 
able authority  declares  it  to  be  —  or  to  have 
been  originally  —  only  an  immense  cavity 
in  a  ledge  of  rock,  whence  stone  was  quar- 
ried centuries  ago  for  the  building  of  the 
Cathedral.  If  so,  Nature  has  indeed  adopted 
it.  Her  streams  have  fed  it,  her  reeds  and 
rushes  and  lovely  mosses,  and  all  manner 


AT    LICHFIELD  239 

of  green  growing  things  have  clasped  their 
arms  about  it.  Great  trees  overhang  the 
brimming  banks  that  are  as  much  Nature's 
own  as  if  this  was  some  forest  lake  hidden 
away  in  mountain  fastnesses. 

As  for  the  city  itself,  no  doubt  it  is  infi- 
nitely dear  and  precious  to  the  dwellers 
therein.  But  to  the  passing  stranger  it  is 
not  especially  attractive.  Or,  rather,  it  is 
so  dominated  over  by  the  Cathedral  that  one 
cares  for  little  else.  One  dares  even  to  for- 
get that  Dr.  Johnson  was  born  here  ;  that 
from  this  town  he  and  Garrick  went  up  to 
London  to  seek  their  fortunes  ;  and  that  the 
boy  Addison  must  often  have  trodden  the 
green  pleasance  of  the  close.  As  in  so 
many  other  instances,  the  church  seems  to 
be  the  one  only  reason  for  the  existence  of 
the  town.  Indeed,  it  is  the  town,  as  far  as 
outsiders  are  concerned. 

But  what  a  fair  raison  d'etre  it  is  !  In- 
finitely lovely,  exquisitely  beautiful,  —  these 
are  the  words  that  give  colour  to  one's 


240  AT    LICHFIELD 

thought  as  memory  calls  up  the  semblance 
of  Lichfield.  It  is  one  of  the  smaller  cathe- 
drals of  England;  perhaps  it  is  the  very 
smallest.  When  one  thinks  of  Winchester, 
of  Canterbury,  of  Durham,  of  York,  of  the 
glorious  trio  of  Peterborough,  Ely,  and  Lin- 
coln, one  finds  the  whole  list  of  sonorous 
and  imposing  adjectives  on  one's  lips. 
They  are  majestic,  stupendous,  magnificent, 
grand,  sombre,  and  over-powering.  They 
are  to  one's  thought  as  heroes,  bloodstained, 
perhaps,  and  armour-clad.  They  are  vir- 
ile to  the  last  degree.  They  are  strong  as 
Thor,  mighty  as  Odin.  They  are  mascu- 
line from  base  to  crown. 

Contrasted  with  these,  Lichfield  is  as  a 
woman — beautiful,  noble,  dignified,  with 
a  heart-appealing  loveliness  that  is  essen- 
tially a  feminine  quality.  One  feels  inclined 
to  use  the  feminine  pronoun,  and  say  "she," 
as  we  do  of  the  lady  moon,  or  as  the  sailor 
does  of  his  ship.  Possibly  this  quality  is 
accentuated  by  the  lithe,  slender  grace  of 


AT    LICHFIELD  24! 

the  three  tall  spires  that  lift  themselves  in 
upper  air  as  lightly,  as  naturally,  as  do  the 
poplar-trees  that  grow  on  the  margin  of  the 
Pool.  Perhaps  colour  has  something  to  do 
with  it.  Most  of  the  cathedral  churches 
are  gray,  light  or  dark,  as  the  case  may 
be,  but  still  gray.  Lichfield  is  built  of  red 
sandstone,  very  soft  and  mellow  in  tone, 
and  peculiarly  exquisite  in  its  setting  of 
green,  or  when  reflected  in  the  still  surface 
of  its  stretch  of  shining  water. 

It  is  hard  to  say  from  which  point  of  ap- 
proach the  Cathedral  is  loveliest ;  for  while 
the  picture  changes  with  every  step,  it  never 
changes  for  the  worse.  It  is  in  a  way  iso- 
lated, though  so  near  the  town  ;  and  from 
whatever  direction  it  is  viewed,  some  new 
and  lovely  combination  of  towers  and  spires 
and  foliage  is  continually  presented.  From 
the  southwest  the  spires  are,  perhaps,  pecu- 
liarly beautiful  as  seen  from  the  other  side 
of  the  lake.  From  the  southeast  we  get  our 
first  impression  of  the  great  length  of  the 

R 


242  AT    LICHFIELD 

church  —  great  in  proportion  to  its  width 
and  height  —  and  see  how  much  of  it  lies  in 
the  choir  and  the  apse.  The  church  is 
much  longer  from  the  so-called  central 
tower  to  the  extreme  east,  than  from  that 
point  to  the  extreme  west;  an  order  of 
things  that  is  hi  many,  if  not  in  most, 
cases  reversed.  But  a  tape-measure  is  a 
very  unimportant  part  of  a  cathedral  pil- 
grim's outfit.  Let  him  carry  a  mental 
camera  instead. 

Elsewhere,  in  many  a  cathedral  close, 
in  many  a  nave,  and  aisle,  and  sanctuary, 
we  had  seen  the  ravages  of  the  iconoclasts 
of  the  civil  war.  Everywhere  we  had 
heard 'the  same  story  of  puritan  spoliation 
and  misrule.  Everywhere  we  had  seen 
the  blows  of  the  hammer,  the  traces  of  van- 
dal hands  in  holy  places,  the  profanation 
of  sacred  shrines,  the  wanton  destruction  of 
things  precious  beyond  belief.  We  had 
shrunk  from  the  tread  of  horses'  hoofs, 
stabled  in  the  holy  of  holies;  from  the 


AT    LICHFIELD  243 

oaths  and  ribaldry  of  brutal  soldiers  as 
they  drained  the  sacred  chalice  snatched 
from  the  very  altar ;  from  the  echo  of 
pistol  and  carbine  riddling  the  majestic  and 
venerated  figures,  'not  only  of  saints  and 
martyrs  of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy, 
but  of  the  Christ  himself.  We  had  won- 
dered over  the  limitations  of  human  nature 
—  limitations  born  of  prejudice  and  narrow 
misconception  —  that  had  made  it  possible 
for  good  men  and  true,  men  who  were  con- 
scientious according  to  their  light,  to  per- 
mit in  their  followers  such  hideous  dese- 
cration. But  while  other  cathedrals  were 
shamelessly  spoiled,  Lichfield  became  ac- 
tually a  besieged  fortress.  The  city  proper 
was  unprotected  and  open ;  but  Bishop  Lang- 
ton  had  built  a  strong  wall  about  the  close, 
and  thrown  causeways  across  the  pool,  or 
lake,  lying  between  it  and  the  city.  To  the 
fortified  close  and  church,  then,  the  royal- 
ists fled  for  refuge,  when  in  1643  the  puri- 
tans under  Lord  Brooke  attacked  the  town. 


244  AT    LICHFIELD 

My  lord  was  a  fierce  partisan,  as  well  as  a 
zealous  puritan.  Avowing  his  determina- 
tion to  destroy  the  Cathedral,  he  solemnly 
addressed  his  men  and  prayed  God  to  send 
them  some  special  token  of  his  approval. 
But  on  the  second  day  of  the  siege,  a  shot 
fired  from  a  spire  of  the  Cathedral  laid  him 
low.  The  next  day  the  central  spire  crashed 
through  the  roof,  and  on  the  third  day  of 
the  siege  the  close  surrendered. 

Then  began  a  scene  of  ravage  and  dese- 
cration. From  the  pulpit  in  the  nave  fanat- 
ics addressed  the  soldiery,  and  urged  on 
the  work  of  destruction.  The  carved  stalls 
were  pulled  down,  the  organ  was  broken, 
the  beautiful  and  costly  stained  windows 
were  shattered  into  fragments  and  their 
tracery  wrenched  from  its  fastenings,  and 
the  floor  of  alternate,  losenge-shaped  blocks 
of  cannel  coal  and  alabaster  was  torn  up. 
In  the  tomb  of  Bishop  Scrope,  a  marauder 
found  a  silver  chalice  and  crosier.  It  was 
the  signal  for  the  spoliation  of  every  other 


AT    LICHFIELD  245 

tomb.  The  monuments  were  wantonly 
mutilated  and  destroyed,  and  the  ashes  of 
the  dead  were  scattered  to  the  four  winds. 
Sad  indeed  must  the  plight  of  poor  Lich- 
field  have  been  during  the  long  years  that 
followed. 

When,  twelve  months  after  the  Restora- 
tion, Bishop  John  Hacket  was  consecrated, 
he  found  an  almost  roofless  cathedral,  filled 
with  the  debris  of  the  fallen  spire  and  the 
ruined  monuments.  He  immediately  set 
many  teams,  "  with  his  own  coach  horses," 
at  work,  put  his  own  strong  hand  to  the 
plough,  and  began  to  bring  order  out  of 
chaos.  The  king,  Charles  II.,  sent  thither 
"one  hundred  fair  timber  trees"  from 
Needwood  Forest ;  Bishop  Hacket  himself 
gave  thousands  of  pounds  to  the  good  cause, 
and  the  prebendaries  and  canons  half 
their  income.  But  it  was  eight  years  be- 
fore the  ravages  were  repaired  and  the 
Cathedral  was  reconsecrated.  Surely  now 
that  the  storm  and  stress  of  civil  war  were 


246  AT    LICHFIELD 

over,  and  at  least  a  nominal  peace  reigned 
in  England,  the  stoutest  Roundhead  of 
them  all  must  have  rejoiced  at  this  con- 
summation. 

It  may  be  that  we  felt  the  exceeding  love- 
liness of  Lichfield  all  the  more  deeply  be- 
cause it  was  one  of  the  last  cathedrals  we 
studied,  and  we  were  able  to  contrast  it 
with  the  sterner  beauty  of  its  mightier 
brethren.  As  one  stands  in  the  close,  be- 
fore the  west  front,  he  is  so  enthralled  by 
its  grace  of  outline  and  general  harmony 
of  proportion,  that  he  misses  neither  the 
Titanic  grandeur  of  Durham,  nor  the  stately 
splendour  of  Canterbury.  It  is  a  delight  to 
see  a  west  front  in  which  there  are  no  empty 
niches,  suggestive  of  ruin  and  decay.  Doubt- 
less the  restorations  may  be — as  indeed  the 
learned  ones  say  they  are  —  open  to  criti- 
cism. There  are  unpleasant  stories  of 
Roman  cement  and  other  atrocities ;  and 
it  is  easy  to  say  that  many  of  the  modern 
statues  are  unworthy.  But  it  is  the  general 


AT    LICHFIELD  247 

effect  one  must  consider.  If  details  may 
be  criticised,  yet  the  fa$ade  as  a  whole  is 
wonderfully  beautiful  and  impressive,  with 
its  tier  on  tier  of  arcades,  and  its  countless 
array  of  patriarchs  and  prophets,  kings 
and  queens,  apostles  and  martyrs.  Over 
the  central  of  the  three  western  doorways 
sits  St.  Chad,  as  is  fitting,  with  a  long  sup- 
port of  Norman,  Mercian,  and  Saxon  kings 
oil  either  hand.  This  rather  low,  broad 
portal  is  a  recessed  porch,  very  beautiful, 
with  its  clustered  columns  and  springing 
arches,  its  rich  masses  of  foliage  and 
flowers,  and  its  central  shaft  supporting 
the  Virgin  and  child.  At  the  sides  are 
the  two  Marys,  St.  Peter,  and  St.  John. 

Through  this  portal  we  enter  ;  and  at 
once  rejoice  that  the  eye,  taking  in  at  one 
swift  glance  the  graceful  beauty  of  the  Early 
Decorated  nave  with  its  eight  bays,  its  octag- 
onal piers,  many  shafted  and  with  rich 
capitals,  its  beautiful  double- arched  trifo- 
riurn,  somewhat  like  that  of  Westminster, 


248  AT    LICHFIELD 

and  the  triangular,  trefoiled  windows  of 
the  clerestory,  can  yet  pass  on  beyond  the 
light,  open  choir-screen  and  the  exquisite 
choir  itself  to  the  reredos  and  the  high  altar, 
and  rest  finally  on  the  great  windows  of  the 
Lady-Chapel,  glowing  like  jewels  in  the 
half  darkness  of  the  long  perspective.  The 
church  seems  longer  than  it  is,  because  it  is 
comparatively  narrow.  Yet  three  hundred 
and  thirty-six  feet  is  no  mean  length  even 
when  one  remembers  Winchester  and  Can- 
terbury. 

Beautiful  as  the  nave  is,  and  delightedly 
as  the  eye  seeks  the  triforium  arches  and 
the  rich  arcades,  it  was  not  there  that  we 
two  pilgrims  lingered  longest.  The  tran- 
septs lured  us  onward  with  their  great 
Perpendicular  windows  that  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  original  Early  English.  The 
roof  is  a  curious  feature,  less  for  what  it  is 
than  for  what  it  has  been.  Who  would  be- 
lieve, save  on  good  evidence,  that  an  effort 
was  made  to  palm  off  wood  for  stone  in  the 


AT    LICHFIELD  249 

far-away  days  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
when  builders  are  supposed  to  have  believed 
that  "the  gods  see  everywhere"?  But  in 
1243  Henry  III.  orders  that  there  shall  be 
made  "  in  the  King's  Chapel  at  Windsor,  a 
high  wooden  roof,  in  the  fashion  of  the  new 
work  at  Lichfield  ;  so  that  it  may  appear  to 
be  stonework,  with  good  wainscoting  and 
painting."  It  is  needless  to  say  that  good 
honest  stone  now  covers  both  transepts. 

In  the  north  transept  is  the  famous  door- 
way,—  a  deeply  recessed  arch,  with  five 
principal  mouldings.  Two  of  these  are  en- 
riched with  foliage  and  conventional  de- 
signs, while  the  other  three  have  close  oval 
compartments  with  bas-reliefs  of  angels, 
saints,  and'  patriarchs.  On  each  side  are 
detached  pillars  with  rich  foliated  capitals 
and  dog-tooth  mouldings.  In  the  centre  of 
the  arch  is  a  fine  clustered  column,  and 
several  full-length  figures  add  grace  and 
dignity  to  the  whole. 

In  the  great  piers  of  the  central  tower, 


250  AT    LICHFIELD 

four  distinct  periods  can  be  traced  with 
ease.  That  of  the  eastern  and  western 
piers  is  the  Early  English  of  1200.  The 
transepts  are  later  Early  English,  and  join 
them  on  the  north  and  south  ;  while  the 
Early  Decorated  nave  reaches  them  on  the 
west.  In  the  south  aisle  of  the  choir,  also, 
the  vaulting  indicates  three  periods  of  the 
twelfth,  thirteenth,  and  fourteenth  centu- 
ries, the  east  end  showing  one  arching  rib, 
the  west  end  three  ribs,  and  the  chancel  a 
close  approach  to  fan  tracery. 

But  this  last  is  a  glimpse  into  the  future, 
for  we  have  not  yet  passed  the  choir-screen. 
This  being  made  wholly  of  wrought  iron, 
copper,  and  brass,  is  exceedingly  light,  open, 
and  delicate,  being  a  blending  of  natural 
and  conventional  foliage  with  the  most  airy 
of  vines  and  tendrils.  Blackberry  and 
grape  vines  bear  fruit  of  onyx.  There  are 
currants  and  seed-pods  of  roses  in  red  and 
white  carnelian,  and  strawberries  in  ivory. 
Above  this  airy  display  are  angels  in  bronze 


AT    LICHFIELD  25! 

playing  on  musical  instruments.  Lichfield 
is  especially  notable  for  its  fine  metal  work. 
The  wrought-iron  gates  of  the  north  and 
south  choir  aisles  are  very  beautiful ;  and 
no  one  can  fail  to  notice  the  perfect  grace 
of  the  rich  tracery  that  at  once  protects 
and  embellishes  the  heavy  wood  of  the 
outer  doors.  The  pulpit,  too,  which  is  in 
the  nave  against  the  northwest  tower  pier, 
is  a  structure  of  metal, — burnished  brass 
and  wrought  iron,  adorned  with  Derbyshire 
spars  and  brilliant  enamels.  In  the  fore- 
ground is  a  group  of  figures  in  bronze. 

Once  within  the  choir,  one  is  struck  by 
the  absence  of  canopies  over  the  stalls. 
Open  bays  into  the  choir  aisles  give  an  air 
of  unusual  lightness  to  the  interior,  which 
is  very  beautiful.  But  this  is  nothing  to 
the  change  in  the  triforium,  which  has  been 
suddenly  shorn  of  its  double  arches  with 
the  quatrefoil  above,  and  has  become  a  low 
arcade,  or  narrow  gallery,  —  a  mere  pas- 
sage-way. Instead  of  the  three  stories,  so 


252  AT    LICHFIELD 

to  speak,  of  the  nave,  the  clerestory  with 
its  vast  Perpendicular  windows  fills  the 
whole  vaulted  space  above  the  six  bays. 
The  effect  is  superb. 

The  piers  of  these  bays  are  so  interesting 
that,  without  going  into  any  detail  of  past 
changes,  a  few  words  as  to  their  present 
condition  may  not  be  amiss.  The  first  two 
from  the  tower  are  Early  English.  The 
third  is  half  Early  English  and  half  Deco- 
rated, while  all  those  east  of  this  are  entirely 
Decorated.  They  are  octagonal,  with  clus- 
tered shafts  and  ornate  capitals  wrought 
with  foliage. 

In  the  spandrels  of  the  three  western 
arches  are  niches  with  richly  carved  cano- 
pies rising  to  the  parapet  above,  beneath 
which  on  brackets  of  foliage  are  statues  of  - 
St.  Christopher,  St.  James,  and  St.  Philip 
on  the  south,  and  on  the  north,  St.  Peter, 
Mary  Magdalene,  and  the  Virgin. 

On  the  reredos  all  the  skill  and  art  of  the 
modern  ecclesiastical  decorator  seems  to 


AT    LICHFIELD  253 

have  spent  itself.  Behind  the  altar  is  a  rich 
arcade  of  five  gabled  compartments  ;  that  in 
the  centre,  which  is  lifted  high  above  the 
others  and  much  more  ornate,  being  sur- 
mounted by  a  cross.  The  lower  part  is 
threefold.  In  the  middle  panel  is  the  As- 
cension, with  a  group  of  angels  above  it, 
and  in  the  side  compartments  are  the  Evan- 
gelists and  their  emblems.  Beyond  the 
reredos  proper,  on  either  side,  are  exqui- 
sitely light  and  graceful  arcades  of  alabas- 
ter, with  angels  between  each  gable  blow- 
ing trumpets  most  delicately  wrought. 
Light  metal  work  abounds,  with  much  in- 
laying of  red  Derbyshire  marble,  fluor-spar 
in  blue,  white,  and  yellow,  with  malachite, 
carnelian,  and  lapis  lazuli,  making  a  be- 
wildering blaze  of  colour.  Fortunately,  or 
rather,  of  set  purpose,  the  reredos  has  been 
kept  rather  low,  and  so  skilfully  set  that  it 
does  not  greatly  obstruct  the  view  into  the 
Lady-Chapel  beyond  it. 

South  of  the  altar  is  the   sedilia,  with 


254  AT    LICHFIELD 

richly  carved  canopies  of  freestone  that 
were  once  part  of  the  old  rood-screeu. 

Under  the  east  window  of  the  south  aisle 
of  the  choir  lie  Chantrey's  "  Sleeping  Chil- 
dren," by  far  the  most  famous  —  and  de- 
servedly so  —  of  his  earlier  works.  In  the 
north  aisle  is  his  latest,  the  kneeling  figure 
of  Bishop  Eyder.  It  is  almost  startlingly 
life-like ;  no  statue,  but  the  living  man  in 
his  habit  as  he  walked. 

From  this  rich  south  aisle  one  enters  — 
if  he  has  won  the  good  graces  of  the  verger 
—  the  treasury,  which  seems  to  have  served 
many  purposes.  Here  at  one  time  many 
a  heretic  has  had  reason  to  bewail  his  fate, 
as  it  was  used  for  a  courtroom,  or  trial 
chamber.  Next  to  it  is  the  sacristy,  over 
the  door  of  which  in  the  south  aisle  is  the 
picturesque  Watching  Gallery.  It  is  a 
small  vaulted  space  with  an  open  parapet 
in  front.  This  once,  no  doubt,  served  as  a 
watching  chamber  for  the  great  shrine  of 
St.  Chad,  and  for  keeping  guard  during  the 


AT    LICHFIELD  255 

night  over  the  lights  burning  before  the 
several  altars.  For  Lichfield  had  chapels, 
shrines,  and  altars  innumerable,  that  of 
St.  Chad  having  had  the  place  of  honour 
behind  the  high  altar. 

Leaving  the  choir  at  last  we  find  ourselves 
in  the  Lady-Chapel.  This  is  a  polygonal 
apse,  beautiful  beyond  description.  It  is 
impossible  to  attempt  details,  so  rich  is  it 
in  arcades  and  niches,  canopies,  spring- 
ing arches  and  soaring  shafts,  parapets  of 
open  work,  and  delicate  traceries.  Here 
there  are  no  long-drawn  aisles,  no  in- 
tercepting columns,  but  just  one  lofty, 
silent,  vaulted  space,  filled  in  with  nine 
stained  windows  of  marvellous  depth  and 
richness  of  colour,  that  soar  into  the  far 
splendour  of  the  roof  and  lose  themselves 
there.  These  windows  are  the  pride  of 
Lichfield.  After  the  siege  but  little  of  the 
original  glass  remained,  and  its  loss  was 
deeply  mourned.  But  Sir  Brooke  Boothby 
—  blessed  be  his  name — had  seen  these  ex- 


256  AT    LICHFIELD 

quisite  windows  in  an  old  abbey  of  Cister- 
cian nuns  in  Belgium.  After  its  dissolution 
in  1802,  he  bought  them,  and  brought  them 
hither  to  glorify  the  cathedral  of  his  love. 

The  chapter-house  is  an  irregular  octagon 
with  a  fine  central  pillar,  and  an  arcade  of 
forty-nine  arches.  There  is  a  peculiar  but 
beautiful  effect  of  vaulting  here  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  describe.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the 
ribbed  vaulting  seems  to  descend  almost 
upon  the  arcade  itself.  It  must  be  seen  to 
be  appreciated.  A  winding  staircase  leads 
to  the  library  above  the  chapter-house. 
One  of  the  most  interesting  relics  here  is 
the  ancient  manuscript  known  as  the  Gos- 
pels of  St.  Chad. 

One  leaves  Lichfield  Cathedral  —  when 
he  has  strength  of  will  to  tear  himself  away 
—  by  the  door  in  the  north  transept ;  and  if 
he  is  wise,  he  turns  back  to  look  again  and 
again,  not  only  at  the  beautiful  doorway 
itself,  but  at  the  whole  glorious  edifice  soar- 
ing above  him  in  its  supreme  loveliness. 


AT    LICHFIELD  257 

Lichfield  is  the  lily  among  cathedrals,  and 
he  who  has  once  seen  it  may  well  thank 
God  for  the  gift  of  vision,  and  carry  the 
remembrance  with  him  to  his  dying  day. 

Hawthorne  said,  in  reference  to  Lich- 
field, "A  Gothic  cathedral  is  the  only  thing 
in  the  world  that  is  vast  enough  and  rich 
enough." 


XI 

BEAUTIFUL  EXETER 

/^VUR  second  summer  in  England  was 
over.  September  was  waning,  and  early 
October  would  find  us  sailing  homeward  over 
the  sea.  And  yet  —  and  yet  —  we  had  not 
had  one  little  glimpse  of  Devonshire,  nor  had 
we  seen  Exeter.  This  was  "  most  tolerable, 
and  not  to  be  endured."  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  Could  we  manage,  possibly,  to  spend 
the  next  Saturday  and  Sunday  in  Exeter, 
give  two  or  three  days  to  Ilfracombe  and 
the  Doone  Valley,  and,  if  the  fates  were 
unusually  propitious,  see  Clovelly  hang- 
ing like  a  bird's  nest  high  up  among  the 
cliffs? 

It  was  worth  trying  for.     We  packed  our 
portmanteaux  and  left  London  by  the  next 
258 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  259 

train.  Right  here,  as  this  last  chapter 
of  a  small  book  can  be  given  to  Exeter, 
only,  let  rae  take  back  what  I  said  about  a 
certain  street  in  Lincoln.  I  had  not  seen 
Clovelly  then. 

And  now,  as  I  sit  three  thousand  miles 
away,  under  the  shadow  of  my  own  beau- 
tiful, verdure-clad  mountains,  to  record 
this  last  memory  of  golden  loiterings  in 
cathedral  aisles,  I  find  that  my  heart  is 
very  full.  It  is  hard  to  say  the  right  and 
final  word. 

What  is  it  ?  Why  is  it  ?  Whence  is  it  — 
this  enthralling  spell  ?  Certainly  it  is  not 
that  one  is  false  to  one's  traditions,  untrue 
to  one's  own  country.  It  is  not  born  of 
any  fleeting  wish  to  transplant  to  our  own 
young,  strong,  buoyant  land  the  things 
that  so  charm  us,  and  grow  so  inconceiv- 
ably, so  passionately,  dear  to  us  in  the  old 
world.  They  would  be  out  of  place  here 
in  this  alien  atmosphere  ;  homesick,  like 
Cleopatra's  Needle,  wasting  away  for  love 


260  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

of  old  Xilus  and  the  desert.  They  do  not 
belong  to  us,  in  this  infancy  of  our  nation. 
For  they,  themselves,  were  not  born  in  a 
day.  They  have  grown  from  age  to  age  by 
slow  accretion  ;  grown  calmly,  reverently, 
as  the  heart  of  man  demanded  them.  For 
hundreds  of  years  they  have  been  taking 
on  new  grace  and  dignity.  The  anthems 
of  the  ages  have  sanctified  them  ;  the  wor- 
ship of  the  ages  has  floated  up  from  their 
altars  like  incense,  till  the  very  air  is  "  filled 
to  faintness  with  perfume,"  — the  frankin- 
cense and  myrrh  of  chant  and  prayer  and 
hymn.  We,  too,  as  a  nation  have  our 
work  to  do,  our  burden  to  lift,  our  beauty 
to  create,  our  prayers  to  pray.  We  have  to 
work  out  our  own  salvation  with  fear  and 
trembling,  even  as  the  older  nations  are 
working  out  theirs  ;  and,  because  of  our 
own  salvation,  to  leave  the  world  richer 
and  the  future  more  glorious  still.  Had 
the  cathedral-builders  of  mediaeval  ages 
wrought  only  for  their  own  short-lived 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  26l 

present,    all    Christendom   would   be    the 
poorer  to-day. 

Hoary  antiquity  and  modern  civilization, 
the  slumbering  past  and  the  wide-awake 
present,  meet  and  clasp  hands  in  the  fair 
city  of  Exeter.  It  is  progressive,  up  to 
date,  full  of  the  beauty  and  glory  —  and 
comfort  —  of  to-day.  Yet  it  is  equally  full 
of  the  magic  and  glamour  of  the  past.  The 
Rougemont  Hotel,  fin  de  siecle  to  the  last 
degree  with  its  showy  brick  facade  and  its 
modern  conveniences,  is  on  the  same  hill 
with  the  crumbling  ruins  of  Rougemont 
Castle,  where  Shakespeare  has  embalmed 
the  memory  of  Richard  III.  Fine  streets, 
public  squares  and  promenades  abound. 
The  famous  High  Street,  which  follows  the 
line  of  the  old  Roman  highway,  is  at  once 
mediaeval  and  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
The  culminating  point  of  picturesqueness 
is,  perhaps,  the  old  Guildhall,  with  its  pro- 
jecting upper  stories  supported  by  semi- 
circular arches  resting  on  four  massive 


262  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

granite  columns.  The  colonnade  thus 
formed  is  superb  in  effect. 

But  we  had  little  time  to  devote  to  the 
city,  charming  as  it  is;  and  thought  our- 
selves fortunate  in  finding  pleasant  and 
convenient  quarters  at  the  Royal  Clarence, 
on  the  very  borders  of  the  Cathedral  close. 
And  in  due  time,  having  shaken  off  the 
dust  of  travel,  we  turned  our  faces  and  our 
thoughts  cathedral-ward. 

An  early  Saxon  church,  called  the  Church 
of  St.  Peter,  —  of  which  not  a  stone  re- 
mains, —  occupied  part  of  the  site  of  the 
present  building.  No  doubt  it  was  plain 
and  unpretentious,  for  William  "Warelwast, 
the  third  bishop  after  the  Conquest,  began 
the  erection  of  a  Norman  edifice  that  was 
called  in  comparison,  "marvellous  and 
sumptuous."  It  was  completed  by  his 
successor,  and  seems  to  have  covered  about 
the  same  ground  as  the  present  cathedral. 
But  this  Norman  church  followed  in  the 
wake  of  its  Saxon  predecessor.  Of  it. 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  263 

also,  nothing  now  remains  but  the  tran- 
sept towers  and  some  fragmentary  portions 
of  the  lower  walls.  This  was  by  no  means 
the  result  of  natural  decay.  It  was,  rather, 
evolution.  Somewhere  about  1230  Bishop 
Bruere  built  the  chapter-house.  Under  the 
succeeding  bishops,  from  1244  to  1316,  a 
gradual  transformation  took  place  which 
left  the  church  in  nearly  its  present  general 
condition.  This  church,  transformed  save  as 
to  the  Norman  nave,  was  dedicated  by  Bishop 
Grandisson  in  1328.  During  this  episco- 
pate the  nave  was  rebuilt,  and  shortly  after- 
ward the  west  front  was  added.  The  chap- 
ter-house was  remodelled  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  six- 
teenth, Bishop  Oldham  built  the  chapels  of 
St.  Saviour  and  St.  George. 

So  much  by  way  of  a  very  brief  outline 
of  the  early  history  of  Exeter  Cathedral. 
St.  Peter,  the  patron  saint  of  the  Saxon 
conventual  church,  retained  his  honourable 
position  in  spite  of  all  the  changes,  but 


264  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

there  seems  to  be  a  great  dearth  of  the 
usual  legends,  myths,  and  fables.  We  hear 
of  no  miracles,  or  wonder-workings,  such 
as  cling  to  the  memories  of  St.  Cuthbert 
and  St.  Chad. 

During  the  Commonwealth  the  Cathedral, 
which  had  previously  been  greatly  defaced, 
and  had  lost  most  of  its  stained  glass,  was 
cleft  in  twain  by  a  brick  wall  separating 
the  nave  from  the  choir.  The  nave,  called 
*'  West  Peter's,"  was  delivered  over  to  one 
of  Cromwell's  chaplains,  while  another 
Roundhead  presided  in  the  choir,  and  called 
it  "  East  Peter's."  Meanwhile  the  chapter- 
house was  a  stable,  and  the  palace,  the 
deanery,  and  the  canons'  houses  were  sol- 
diers' barracks.  After  the  Restoration, 
happily,  the  disfiguring  partition  was  torn 
down,  and  the  old  order  was  renewed. 

It  is  not  easy  to  obtain  at  short  range  a 
view  of  the  entire  Cathedral  that  is  entirely 
satisfactory.  One  must  go  to  the  Alphing- 
ton  causeway,  or  the  river-banks,  for  that. 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  265 

From  these  points  —  as  indeed  from  many 
that  are  more  distant  —  it  seems  to  stand 
on  high  ground,  rising  well  above  the 
masses  of  buildings  sloping  to  the  river. 
When  near  at  hand,  the  south  side  is  com- 
pletely hidden  by  the  houses  that  have 
crept  close  under  its  shadow,  as  well  as  by 
the  episcopal  palace  and  its  gardens.  The 
north  close  is  very  beautiful,  —  green,  quiet, 
set  with  stately  elms,  its  velvet  turf  pressing 
closely  up  to  the  confines  of  the  gray  stone 
walls.  This  close  is  not  set  apart  solely  to 
the  use  of  the  church  dignitaries.  As  I 
have  said,  our  hotel  was  on  its  borders,  — 
perhaps  it  would  be  correct  to  say  within 
them  ;  and  there  are  other  dwellings.  On 
one  side  is  a  fine  old  Elizabethan  mansion 
in  perfect  preservation,  with  two-storied, 
overhanging  casements,  and  small  window- 
panes.  But  how  are  the  mighty  fallen  ! 
we  went  there  to  buy  photographs  and  a 
guide-book.  There  is  an  upper  chamber, 
however,  that  is  gladly  shown,  —  an  upper 


266  BEAUTIFUL   EXETER 

chamber  panelled  in  rich  oak,  and  rejoicing 
in  a  frieze  in  which  may  be  seen  the  arms 
of  many  a  noble  house.  This  was  once  the 
famous  Exeter  club-room,  whose  walls  en- 
shrine memories  of  Drake,  Sidney,  and 
Raleigh,  to  say  nothing  of  many  a  lesser 
light. 

Unless  one  has  become  familiar  with  the 
west  front  of  Exeter  through  photographs, 
or  minute  descriptions,  the  strongest  first 
impression  may  be  one  of  surprise,  mingled, 
perhaps,  with  a  slight  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment. The  eye  of  the  cathedral  observer 
has  grown  accustomed  to  the  flanking  west- 
ern towers  that  lend  their  stem  dignity  to 
most  of  the  fagades  ;  and  at  a  first  glance, 
two  pilgrims,  at  least,  were  conscious  of  a 
distinctly  disturbing  influence,  though  it 
was  not  easy  to  say  just  whence  it  came. 
For  the  west  front  was  very  beautiful. 
There  was  no  denying  that.  Was  it  the 
effect  of  the  two  receding  stories  ?  A  fore- 
head sloping  backward  does  not  add  to  the 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  267 

dignity  of  the  human  face  divine.  What 
effect  might  it  not  have  on  the  face  of  a 
cathedral  ? 

Thus  we  queried  and  questioned  for 
a  while,  and  then  gave  ourselves  up  to  un- 
questioning enjoyment.  It  is  not  well  to 
be  too  wise.  Wisdom  is  sometimes  a  great 
drawback  to  delight.  He  who  tears  the 
petals  that  he  may  count  the  stamens,  sacri- 
fices the  beauty  and  fragrance  of  the  flower 
to  his  investigations.  Besides,  one  does  not 
criticise  the  stars,  nor  the  high  mountains  ; 
and  of  such  are  the  cathedrals. 

And  now,  having  owned  to  that  first 
sense  of  half-disappointment,  I  feel  like 
taking  it  all  back,  as  memory  recalls  that 
late  afternoon  of  early  autumn,  with  the 
long,  slanting  shadows  on  the  greensward, 
and  the  golden  sunset  light  gilding  tower 
and  pinnacle,  and  throwing  into  such  strong 
relief  the  sculptured  screen  with  its  triple 
row  of  kings,  warriors,  saints,  and  apostles. 
Time-worn,  grim,  and  battered,  they  sur- 


268  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

round  the  three  low  doorways  as  a  body- 
guard. They  stand  as  they  have  stood  for 
ages,  keeping  watch  and  ward  over  the  holy 
places  within. 

This  is  the  first  story.  In  the  second  is 
the  great  west  window,  most  beautiful  as  to 
its  tracery.  On  either  side  of  the  window 
is  a  graduated  arcade.  In  the  third  story, 
or  gable,  receding  like  the  second,  is  a  tri- 
angular window,  above  which,  in  a  canopied 
niche,  is  the  figure  of  St.  Peter. 

Such,  in  brief,  is  the  west  front.  Murray 
says  that  in  all  the  statues  the  arrangement 
of  the  hair,  the  fashion  of  the  crowns,  and 
the  armour  of  the  knights,  indicate  the  time 
of  Richard  II.,  when  the  work  was  prob- 
ably completed.  Above  the  screen,  the 
recession  of  the  second  story  leaves  a 
battlemented  platform,  or  balcony,  that 
may  have  been  for  the  use  of  the  minstrels 
and  musicians. 

The  three  west  doorways  are  enriched  by 
carvings  and  mouldings  of  great  beauty. 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  269 

At  the  right  of  the  central  door  is  the  Chan- 
try of  St.  Radegunde,  built  by  Bishop  Gran- 
disson  for  his  own  burial-place.  He  was,  in 
fact,  buried  here,  but  his  tomb  was  dese- 
crated, and  his  ashes  were  scattered,  no 
man  knows  whither. 

Before  we  enter  the  nave,  shall  we  walk 
round  the  great  Cathedral,  and  mark  the 
bulwarks  thereof  ? 

From  the  north  close  we  get  our  first  un- 
obstructed view  of  its  entire  length  from 
front  to  Lady-Chapel,  with  its  great  tran- 
septal  Norman  towers,  its  long,  unbroken 
stretch  of  roof,  its  flying  buttresses,  and  the 
fine  north  porch.  There  is  no  central  tower 
and  no  spire  ;  but  the  vast  array  of  slender 
turrets  and  pinnacles,  reminding  one,  in 
remote  fashion,  of  the  Frauen-Kirche  of 
Nuremberg,  completely  do  away  with  any 
suggestion  of  undue  heaviness.  The  rear 
view  from  the  southeast  has  the  Bishop's 
Palace  and  its  picturesque  surroundings 
for  a  foreground,  and  makes  a  lovely  pict- 


27O  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

ure,  even  if  one  loses  much  of  the  church 
itself.  But  it  is  to  the  northeast  that  we 
return  again  and  again,  with  ever  increas- 
ing delight. 

At  length  we  cross  the  threshold  for  our 
first  knowledge  of  the  vast,  dim  splendour 
of  the  interior.  Immensity  is  the  first  word 
that  occurs  to  one,  and  yet  the  view  is  cut 
off  by  the  heavy  stone  choir-screen  and 
the  organ  above  it.  But  over  and  beyond 
all  obstructions,  the  stately  roof,  springing 
from  richly  bossed  vaulting-shafts  of  ex- 
ceeding grace  and  lightness,  stretches  on 
and  on  without  break  to  the  east  end  of 
the  great  choir,  in  a  long  perspective  that 
holds  the  eye  entranced. 

Looking  near  at  hand,  we  find  a  won- 
drous wealth  of  detail.  Clustered  columns 
of  Purbeck  marble  divide  the  nave  into 
seven  bays.  The  corbels  of  the  pier  arches 
supporting  the  vaulting-shafts  are  wrought 
in  the  most  intricate  and  graceful  de- 
signs of  leaf  and  bud  and  flower,  long 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  2/1 

sprays  of  foliage,  and  gnarled  and  twisted 
branches,  alternating  with  angels,  saints, 
and  prophets. 

The  minstrel's  gallery,  above  the  northern 
central  bay,  is  large  and  imposing,  having 
twelve  niches,  each  sheltering  a  winged 
angel,  and  each  angel  playing  on  a  different 
instrument  of  music.  The  two  heads  on 
the  corbels  beneath  are  supposed  to  repre- 
sent Edward  III.  and  his  queen,  Philippa. 
The  two  so-called  nuns'  galleries  in  the 
transepts  are  peculiar,  and  will  not  easily 
be  overlooked  or  forgotten. 

The  windows,  not  only  of  the  nave,  but, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  of  the  whole  build- 
ing, are  of  the  best  order  of  Geometric, 
Decorated,  with  wonderfully  beautiful  and 
effective  tracery.  One  notices  here  espe- 
cially the  bilateral  symmetry  that  pre- 
vails. It  is  not  only  that  aisle  answers 
to  aisle  and  column  to  column,  nor  that 
the  two  great  transepts  are  exactly  alike. 
But  all  over  the  Cathedral,  window  re- 


272  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

spends  to  window,  screen  to  screen,  tomb 
to  tomb,  chantry  to  chantry.  This  uniform- 
ity might  be  supposed  to  lead  to  satiety. 
But  it  does  not.  Here  it  seems  to  serve  the 
interests  of  harmony  only. 

There  is  a  jewelled  reredos,  there  is  a 
graceful  sedilia,  there  are  tombs  and  chap- 
els and  chantries  innumerable.  The  Bish- 
op's throne  lifts  its  splendid  carvings  high 
in  air,  with  almost  the  grace  and  lightness 
of  the  "foamy  sheaf  of  fountains"  in  the 
church  of  St.  Lawrence.  A  staircase  from 
the  chapel  of  St.  Mary  Magdalene  leads  to 
the  roof  of  the  choir  aisles  and  the  ambula- 
tory. From  the  first  of  these,  between  the 
flying  buttresses,  the  eye  can  follow  the 
long  perspective  of  the  roof ;  and  from 
the  other,  one  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  great 
window  in  the  choir.  From  the  clerestory 
windows  one  looks  down  into  the  nave,  with 
all  its  lovely  arches  and  light  shafting. 

But  why  go  on  with  the  inventory  ? 
More  keenly,  perhaps,  at  Exeter  than  in 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  273 

many  another  famous  cathedral  equally 
grand  and  beautiful,  does  the  observer  feel 
the  utter  inadequacy  of  words.  There  is 
here  such  a  wealth  of  detail,  such  beauty 
and  intricacy  of  wrought  work  on  boss  and 
corbel,  base  and  capital.  No  two  are  alike. 
There  is  no  trif orium ;  and  it  is  not 
missed,  even  though  one  remembers  how 
glorious  a  feature  it  has  been  found  else- 
where. Instead  is  a  blind  arcade,  very 
deeply  recessed,  in  groups  of  four  arches 
under  each  bay  of  the  clerestory. 

Having  said  all  this,  one  has  said  nothing, 
—  and  can  only  repeat,  how  great  is  the 
impotency  of  words  ! 

We  returned  again  and  again  to  the  fair 
and  stately  interior,  while  we  did  not  cease 
to  rejoice  that  from  our  chamber  windows 
we  could  take  in  the  whole  magnificent 
sweep  of  the  north  side,  and  almost  peer 
into  the  recesses  of  the  north  porch  itself. 

Late  Saturday  afternoon  the  verger 
asked,  "  Will  you  attend  morning  service  ? 


274  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

Come  early  that  I  may  have  room  for  you 
in  the  choir.  Canon  Blank  is  to  preach, 
and  there  will  be  a  crowd." 

When  in  the  sweet  stillness  of  that  Sun- 
day morning  we  crossed  the  green  stretch 
of  turf  and  entered  the  deeply  shadowed 
portal,  we  found  the  nave  well  filled,  and 
a  great  throng  pressing  about  the  gates  of 
the  choir-screen.  Our  friendly  verger, 
with  two  assistants,  was  letting  in  one 
group  after  another,  and  giving  them  seats 
within.  We  leaned  against  one  of  the 
nearest  columns,  and  waited  meekly  until 
our  turn  came  and  he  beckoned  us  forward. 

The  cathedrals  of  England  are  not  — 
curiosity  shops,  so  to  speak.  They  are  not 
museums  of  old  relics,  odd  misereres, 
quaint  gargoyles,  curious  intricacies  of 
carving,  battered  tombs,  and  broken  effi- 
gies, preserved  for  the  amusement  of  idle 
tourists.  They  are  places  of  worship  built 
at  infinite  cost  in  honour  of  the  Most  High. 
The  visitor  who  fails  to  see  them,  to  think 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  275 

of  them,  in  this  light,  fails  of  all.  To 
"stop  over"  for  an  hour,  from  train  to 
train  it  may  be,  to  rush  through  aisle  and 
chapel,  cloister  and  chapter-house, —  this  is 
not  to  see  a  cathedral.  We  two  pilgrims, 
compelled  by  the  exigencies  of  travel,  did, 
I  confess,  see  Carlisle,  and  one  or  two 
others,  after  precisely  this  unwise  fashion. 
But  I  have  not  ventured  to  speak  of  them 
here.  How  should  I  dare,  when  I  had  not 
entered  the  holy  of  holies  ?  Only  he  who 
worships  in  a  cathedral  gets  even  a  faint 
inkling  of  what  it  is,  of  what  it  is  meant 
to  be. 

The  service  of  that  morning  was  exqui- 
sitely sweet  and  simple.  Some  of  the  doors 
and  windows  were  open,  and  the  soft  rus- 
tling of  leaves  and,  now  and  then,  the  twitter 
of  some  belated  bird  mingled  with  chant 
and  prayer  and  the  clear,  pure  voices  of 
the  choir-boys.  Then  came  the  sermon. 
We  had  never  heard  of  him  before;  but 
having  heard  him,  we  did  not  in  the  least 


276  BEAUTIFUL    EXETER 

wonder  that  there  was  a  crowd  when  it 
was  known  that  Canon  Blank  was  to 
preach. 

"  For  the  love  of  Christ  constraineth  me," 
was  the  text  of  the  powerful  discourse 
that  held  a  great  audience  spell-bound  that 
morning.  Doubtless  the  surroundings  had 
their  effect, — the  magnificent  old  temple, 
redolent  of  prayer  and  praise,  the  solemn 
splendour  of  the  ritual,  the  deep  thunder 
of  the  organ.  These,  without  question, 
added  to  the  effect — if  by  mere  force  of 
contrast  —  when  the  speaker,  a  slender, 
dark-haired  man  of  middle  age,  paused  a 
moment,  with  an  all-embracing  glance  from 
right  to  left,  and  said,  "My  brethren, 
rites  and  forms  and  ceremonies,  even  creeds 
themselves,  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
religious  life  except  as  helps  thereto." 
Then,  rising  to  his  full  height,  while  his 
colour  deepened  and  his  voice  rang  out  like 
a  trumpet,  he  cried,  "  Earth  has  grown  sick 
of  creeds,  considered  as  such  !  It  will  have 


BEAUTIFUL    EXETER  277 

the  creed  interpreted  by  the  Christ-like  life, 
or  it  will  have  none  of  it." 

I  am  not  sorry  that  this  Sunday  morning 
service  in  Exeter  is  the  closing  memory  of 
a  Cathedral  Pilgrimage. 


WGVERSfTY 

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